I silk wrapped my curves
to lure you closer to the burn,
remorse only wept when
the scars didn’t bleed.
Star tattooed night was the heaven
where hell sipped champagne
from the hole in your dreams.
I sang through my claws,
but you didn’t learn the words.
“Too late” whimpers the fool.
©Susie Clevenger 2018
Friday 55
remorse only wept when
ReplyDeletethe scars didn’t bleed
- I'm just sitting with this idea, this image, and all this piece stirs up, and I'm content, after a long day, to rest with it in companionable silence for the long draw of evening. No sipping champagne - but maybe some star gazing in the best the country has to offer - no light pollution and dead still silence.
This is cake to my awaiting tea. My claws are retracted for the night.
Powered poem.
The middle stanza just leaves me breathless, Susie. And it's well-framed by those cold and yet emotional appeals to blood and lust, remorse and just perhaps, revenge, which make up the rest of this steel-clawed 55. Just excellent Susie--as always, you rock this form.
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