cigarettes and bubble gum

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Unspeakable, And unreadable alike Something like gin on Sunday mornings, Or tattered dirty beds drowned in sunlight. So spiked and unfit for the lips, That I hush every time it comes, Yet the red and black, Like foreign scents and streets Always tastes divine. Turning eyes, around, and romantic Glaring to you and facing blades, I'd always only see you through Strands of my windblown hair. Crowned golden and sapphires around the darkness, Dances in whirls for shadows under ally ways, Queen for no one but your words, Such an abandoned cat on dusty mornings. And I'd still look up, Bewilder eyed, slightly wonderous… Naked and striped of warmth, Ignorant for too much of the times… Unless it was I who thew it out By mistake with yesterday's garbage. It was there most of my days, Such sights I denied existence, Like plunging without air. My way of death utterly innocent, Blind perhaps, and even wicked in process, I hold back nothing at such factories. I'll let you take me anywhere, Even in carrying cages and third class coach cars. Leading by chains along rail tracks No temperance around my collar, I have, and saved what you gave A few centuries ago. I'd be away, Deserted somewhere that no bodies died, Coming out of my shack, Twice by daylight And once more at night, To seek like Adeleine for the ship Never returning.

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