Monday, October 14, 2013

Paul Tristram- A Poem

Dying In Wine

She lay there spiteful,
as naked as jealousy,
arms draped around my mind.
Slither, baby, slither
I bit the bullet harder.
Complicated tornado, I needed
heeded, nothing but the slide,
onwards, downwards, inwards
with mind only.
I was dying in wine.
She wanted bloodlust, love.
I tried to leave
quickly, consciously
disgraced only to myself.
The sweet kiss of death
would only come from the glass,
her heart, her bastard heart
was made of stronger stuff.
My granite smile
was merely chewing gum
to her beautiful, dangerous soul.
I was damned,
slightly excited.
She leaned in and snapped
the neck of my only exit.
I drowned in memories
as she walked off towards
the next lover, victim, headrush.
I waved, she turned
finished the job off properly,
in one mind numbing howl.
I love her still.

© Paul Tristram 2004

Published in A Bard Hair Day, Issue 12, October 2004

Paul Tristram is a Welsh writer who has poems, short stories and sketches published in many publications around the world, he yearns to tattoo porcelain bridesmaids instead of digging empty graves for innocence at midnight, this too may pass, yet.

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