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Perfect
by Steve MichaelsThe soap swirled in blue and alabaster
smelled of sandy salty shores and
was hand made from
all natural ingredients per
a secret family recipe. Man on the
podium exclaimed, "We get
the colors without dyes!"
"How?" she asked as he winked, leaned and whispered
"secret."
Oh, giggles and off we walk, soap in hand
but not clever enough to realize
it would never clean Friday night
from her perfect ass or wash
the glimmer back onto rapidly
fading futures.
Hands clasped loosely
allowing the passage
of dying dreams and lips
lightly miming music from
a distant room.
12/10/2013 Author's Note: Angst for the memories y'all
Posted on 12/10/2013
Copyright © 2024 Steve Michaels
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Chris Sorrenti on 12/10/13 at 04:05 PM Clever, fun...rollicking read. I especially like these lines: but not clever enough to realize
it would never clean Friday night
from her perfect ass or wash |
| Posted by Alison McKenzie on 12/13/13 at 09:09 PM This is hugely evocative! I did not expect the "not clever enough..." so it really sort of hit me in the gut. |
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