Every bottle that she tipped, he filled with emotion.
Bigmouth never managed to land his staggering foot in it.
Her clock ran silent, they chuckled out, one twenty-something broken,
and the polar with no intent to commit.
Couple bought a cheap motel room, broken glass refurbished the flooring.
She with the llelo, he con gusano soaked mind filled adoring.
Next was the couch, self-medicated comatose sex.
Sun burnt lights off the Venetians. Inside milky cloud rainy season.
Happily together from complex to rough.
Hex marked the spot when his paychecks weren’t enough,
to rebuild her flurries back to mid-face avalanche.
She said, “Your life is a laughingstock, chasing nine to five o‘clock, your talk is babble, you should really consider kissing a smoking hot barrel.”
She knows how to exchange punches but prefers her pen and how to look ladylike on all four limbs.
“Take a walk, before talk becomes fuss and if I’m a lucky little lady, your dead beat ass will catch a ride from the tires of a bus.”
He left with a bantamweight temper tantrum, while she stayed lit up, chasing her reflection in an aluminum sanctum.
Now, he loved this girl even though all of the petals had been plucked, he knew more were sure to bloom.
So he ran back to their little home, pausing suddenly while walking into the room.
Found her body laying on the cold floor, her heart without a pace.
But warm was the burgundy…that spilt out from her face.