Random Poetry # 1.

You'd rather turn heads
than turn pages.
Stilletto shoes pointing at the soap-stone sundial,
penciling in oblivion above IV...

Golden mane,
wispy curls;
Her honey-blonde vines choke restlessly
the brunette in her...

Perhaps that pink-slip dress
used to be a call for detention.
How many men have slipped sand and shore
beneath your authority?

Legs, thighs, waist,
round strides,
lips plumped to a ripe killer-lipstick
kiss...

Her head wasn't in the books,
but her likeness was in the dictionary.
Promiscuousity, or a coloquiallism slinging
"bitch that stole my boyfriend!",
can these words define her?

Eyes like bright diamonds
and a rotten glare...
she is withered,
but looks like a jewel.

Perhaps...she is perfect.
And we are the sinners.
But she weighs more on my scale
than her 114 lbs...

...snake.