She stood there
before me
a vision of beauty
in a tight beige skirt,
cigarette dangling
from her slender fingers
a drink in the other hand.
She told me of my wasted words,
how my joy
would never be found,
never be found in
the verses of poorly written poetry.
She bent to kiss me,
I woke up.

08/15/2010

Posted on 08/15/2010
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