PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Her toes, freshly painted
with a dark

metallic toe-polish

She is perched in a window-jam, wrapped in a towel
high above
the bohemian neighborhood

A cigarette, curiously dangles
from her lip,

with a long vacant ash

Her smoking hand, is trembling
The other

is coiled, round a bottle of Jack

Smoke curls upward, and disappears
behind the curtain

One by one, a parade of tears
tumble across
her porcelain cheek

They tumble

down, like lonely troubadours
that have lost their way

She does not notice, that I’ve entered

the flat

She is already halfway, to the bottle's end

She is too exhausted

and too drunk, to notice anything

Her mind is perched somewhere
far away;

It is contemplating, dreaming of another world

It is a long hard day, for both of us

Her legs are neatly folded

beneath her chin;

She is using her oil-painted knees,
as a platform for thought

With a vacant look, she flicks

her ash,

from the window

She flicks it, on the world below

with a look

of loathing and disgust

In a corner of the room, there are

several
shredded canvases

They are strewn atop, an old

pizza box
full of dry crumbly crusts

Down in the world below,
a newspaper

scuttles across the street

She watches it, as it floats
away
down the avenue, like a lost balloon

Somewhere in the pages, are the words

of a little fat man;
He claims to know something
about her oil paintings

He said, "They were too melancholy"

But there was nothing melancholy

about them;

Only the little fat man himself, was melancholy

He was melancholy,

because he did not get something

that he wanted

Seeing the scene, as it was painted before me
I shook my keys,
to announce my presence

and then, stepped into the candle light

She wrapped herself around me

quivering,

as a new stream of tears began to flow

Do not despair, my sweet darling

Do not despair,

when the world does not meet you
on fair terms

For in truth, my sweetness – It meets no one that way

And whether you engage it, with your intellect
or not,
It meets us all the same

She tried to pull me, in another

direction

But standing on my shoes

barefoot,

I walked her back to the window-jam;

It was raining outside.

Lighting a cigarette - I picked up the bottle
and took

a long hard draw

And while I gathered her

against me,

I could feel the increased pace of her quivering

I took another pull - a big one

and I too,

flicked my ash

On the world below

~/~