Purple's Platitudes

nothing but words …


20 July 2013




her lipstick was red,

the kind of red that would

make a bull charge from

an acre away,

the kind of lipstick that

made Moses and the burning bush

seem like a dim nightlight,

and her lips,

her lips were full, the kind

of lips that never needed

to say a word,

electric lips that almost made you

want to go to Sunday school,

even though deep down inside

you knew somehow, they

only spoke dirty lies, as if

that really mattered.

Her compulsion was chronic,

to say the words, to play

the games, to inspire every

possible fantasy …

She was a bomb,

always ticking down

to an unfulfilled detonation.

She was an oasis, yes, for a

desert-weary, dying of thirst

lonely nomad, but what is worse,

is she was cold, cruel,

forever out of reach, and

the kind of woman who would not

even validate your parking

when she spurned your sincerest

words and lustful intentions

with a playful laugh,

a devilish smile,

and that final teasing send off

as she blew you a kiss

from those unforgettable

lips and sauntered away …


20 July, 2013 - Posted by | Poetry |

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