by Jeph Johnson
her eyes
match the weather
in some different hemisphere
as she paints her nails
with liquid paper strokes
there's no style
more sophisticated
nor serenity sincere
that subtly still attracts
the common folks
---
she disdains the rain
while enjoying the fall
from the gracefulness eluding
the rest of us all
--
she fashions compassion
and crimson red smile
with an adornment
of eye contact
striking her genius
for the first mile
the second he gets
back on track
---
noise and smoke rings; her elixir
strolling past her style
providing grown men impetus
that comes off juvenile
---
when mellow melancholy moods
hang heavy over hearts
she provokes an attitude
conducive to new starts
---
a cowboy cannot cross his heart
when skate punks hope to die
see, black is not a willing wager
except in dark December skies
---
so 'round and 'round the galaxy
she must orbit every soul
while reaching out in vanity
to try to take control