A love that could destroy your soul
There was no love in her,
no soul to be found.
She was buttery kisses,
mean as a grade school nun.
She took everything she could get with a smile of promise,
but the promise was you would love her tonight,
then find yourself sitting on a curb at dawn,
without your shoes,
wondering where your money went,
hoping you still had a soul?
Her beauty when young was a work of art Michelangelo would have envied,
then she became a reaper of souls in her 40s that terrified the angels,
none whom had never seen such a beauty on fire,
or one so lovely without a heart.
She was six feet tall in heels,
red hair and sapphire eyes,
and beautiful dresses,
her smile could pierce the darkest of hearts,
a single flash left me apologizing for things I hadn’t done.
She was perfection at the edge of creation,
danced like a demon possessed,
never left a tip in her life,
and was worshipped by the men and women she loved,
all whom she left damaged for life.
She was a few weeks in San Francisco in my 20s,
enough time spent to know I was nothing more than a weekend gone mad,
yet I still miss her corrupt soul and madness,
searching for her memories in the bar where we had met so long ago.
She was the love of my love for a month;
any longer and I would have been trapped forever,
and wouldn’t have cared,
yet thanking the universe I had the strength to run away and keep on running.
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