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Renegade Angel
She is the one, hot-wired and sassy; sexy as hell like Satan in high heels; Medusa’s cousin, Eve and the Serpent as one woman to hold me in a spell, she’s smart as rocket science, atom-splitter; astro physical MVP player; a home run hitter, a hall of famer. She’s an ocean trailblazer fierce as a tigershark; cyclone or vortex inception she’s a neon injection on a cloudless night swirling beautiful as Aphrodite, dark and light remedy the dualism of the mind, dream-like, strokes of ethereal shine blood sacred as a gem or a rare moonstone every beating colour reflected through the twilight zone like a violation of vampirism, not Gothic, not manic but mysterious, enigmatic, not like hot gossip in a magazine she won’t be lipstick pouting or dancing queen, but poetry preened, newfangled neutron in the liquid rush she’s Death Row tough and serenade of blood chemical highs she’s a turbo sunrise, palpitation and steady as a rock she’s burning ligaments and scar tissue plasma punk and rhapsody of ghetto. neo-funk and fast as staccato, a suburban stalker like Michael Myer’s daughter. She’s slick as a flick-knife quick as a flash; a blade talker, inside welter cuts or weals that comprise my useless heart she’s an electromagnetic instigator, a Cenobite “tearing my soul apart!”
She’s a renegade angel. Respect her she is queen of the imperceptible, bright sparkle of diamond deceiving smiles, she staves off necromancer guile; she’s warm and yet tactile like a geisha with a voodoo doll’s curious eyes the ability to bewitch, show enterprise treasured as an antique, the not-so-fragile convex of a Victorian mirror, she reflects strength never vile, she’s no cold b***h as an itch of dead moon. She can show passion with the ferocity of a monsoon, deluge into all seasons. like Mozart’s cat in soft purr croon, her very own melody found in poetry cool as the call of the dark. in the nightshade prowl of dreams in the park I’m searching for her, to escape heaven’s oblivion as she makes me beat to rhythm unfamiliar as love. She moves with the blood fusion with silk hands and gold-precious limbs she’s a world within a world, cute as a Russian doll.
Against her pride, against her will I bleed in her eyes impurities, red tears mourning funereal drapes on a coffin of silence. but I would climb inside her void just to rekindle life finding the flight that releases all things to feel the warmth
beating forever inside the shadow of her wings. © 2006 Colin Ingram
remmie_rummie · Fri Aug 11, 2006 @ 11:30pm · 0 Comments |
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