Purple Tongue
Her breath is chemical-sweet.
Saccharine and batteries.
Powder-sniff theatrical,
she slicks on the pan-stick,
rolls eyes like cheats’ dice.
Her purpled tongue drags
chill-burns on vodka ice.
Hands whip despicable slices,
rip new holes for weeping.
Fingertips smear wet hearts
on fogged glass. She singles
out limpets and lingerers.
she is a familiar sight at any gathering
But still somehow fatally beautiful, even if scary!
yes and she is getting older too!
It comes to us all…
Holly, this is brilliant.
Hey Susan – thanks!
Think she hangs out at my local….
Lol. I’m imagining now…!
Rolls eyes’ like cheats dice is just a stroke of genius – went out with a girl like her once – not for very long though. Thankfully.
Lucky escape eh? I can’t help feeling that I’ve inadvertently used a metaphor from many, many country songs there… But it said what I wanted it to, so that’ll do me.
Beautifully done to
Thank you Sir!
This character of yours scores me! Love the poem though 😊
Yes, she’s quite an imposing figure isn’t she!
No!!! Scares me not scores me! 😊
“Scoring” is quite a nice way of putting it though – like scoring paper with scissors….