You were ten days away from the final
curtain call, the last setting of
your stage. Smoke arose from the pit
of the pipe and called toward what
I asked for when I smelled your body.
Distant scents of women and blunted
fires brew between your mingled musk
and cologne. I'm not your average
groupie, darling, and your late-night
gatherings are no surprise, but
the smell of burnt honey right out
of the jar still lingers on your coat.
You know, the one I gave you for our
ten-year anniversary.
A contest entry
- Intrigue me with a memory by Amunet Wolfbane.
1000 points, ended June 8, 2008, 15 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Any good?
Comments
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I really dig the tone of this piece. It sets the pace for the mind. This is dark, a bit sassy and yet there is a coldness to it, a detachment that is irresistible. Nice work
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