Neo Classic

Café au lait Casanova

Late night, 1 AM, refueling my red-eye writer's insomnia,
with venti vanilla lattés at the corner coffee house.
Sated in caffeine, now cruising for my other fix,
playing it smooth, leaning back with boot heels
rudely, crudely kicked up on the table.
It's all right they know me,
I'm a permanent fixture here,
much like the fake ficus trees,
over sized china mugs,
clichéd café French art—
yes, of course, it's always
Monet's Water Lilies.

Ten minute's shy of a coffee induced sober up for whispering,
giggling ones that pique my ever philandering mind.
Casting a roving eye, I smirk then give them my best
'fuck me' grin, as they are my favorite flavor,
snobby rich girls that have forgotten their
practiced, bored, 'I'm-too-good-for-you looks',
vapid, haute monde attitudes,
flirt and make eyes at me with
primped up, caked on face paint,
wearing slinky designer clothes—
yes, the very best that
daddy's money can buy.

Wantonly wicked smiles elicit me to meander over,
sipping, my now lukewarm java as they size me up,
silently deciding which one's coming home with me.
Maybe the frosted blonde with silicone lips;
or the overly perfumed raven-haired beauty
hiding the stink of an unknowing, fool of a fiancé.
soon enough, the nocturnal nookie is revealed
with wandering hands and an up close rub,
scenting my crotch with her eau de cologne.
Flirting with me is something risqué—
yes, a definite naughty
thrill for her night.

Relaxed lasciviousness has another under my eroto-charm,
back at my place, on her knees; without a single stitch
on her perfectly insipid, plastic surgery body,
where I find she sucks and swallows
expertly, cock sucks me dry;
satisfying that perverted,
horny, satyric lech that breathes,
lives, and incites me,
giving me motivation
for tomorrow's naughty write—
yes, my artful muses are
sex and lattés.​

Eve's Red Shoes





"He doesn't listen to me"
quivers, her collagen lips
stamping, ruby heels

an exclamation point
for her crisis

I don't hear her either
although I pretend
with a nod
a sympathetic smile

because good friends do that

But her blouse is too tight
and neckline too low
to hold my attention elsewhere

All I can think of
is her buck-assed naked
grabbing red shoes

doing her over
in a field of purple clover



Thanks, WickedEve​

Touching the Sun






Bright rays dazzle
my side of the cliff

No highlight on self-deception
Everyone sees, but me

I've been told
it's too dangerous to walk
blind into the sun
without sunblock or shades

I believe it's true because
every day I wake up
barefaced, kissing lies
torched with 3rd degree burns

A little charmed delusion
makes my vision crystal

I talk with a mouthful of ashes
while touching the sun​

it's raining





I imagine you and I
in the pouring rain
lip locked
tongues collide

Against this kiss
your name's
whispered into mine

I breathe you
to release me

I've been waiting
all my life
~ and finally
it's raining​

New Perspective





Hard-edged, new perspective
viewed at high contrast
White is brighter
black is black as night

Parallel on the road
center
these lines go on forever
or they seem
2000 miles feels that way

Through the haze
veil of fog
stars kiss the sky
I stop counting them at dawn

The sun brings color
to the shadows
but shutter speed closes
before the image is overexposed​

5pm Friday again.

I'm quick tempered,
stuck in slow traffic
thinking, TGIF!
Ya, right

As far as I can see,
it's bumper to bumper,
red tailights,
horns honking,
curses with dirty gestures.

In this cluster-fuck,
I search for
white noise in urbania,
a low hum and buzz
between two,
behind closed doors.​