Bad, bad, bad ass lady..

in the cascade of my livings
you rise up my dreams

instead of whispers
you paint me with kisses

music makes the look of love [♪]
to flow at your poetry’s scale

your touch fills my inkwell
setting my soul to whistle

like the piano hums
with both of us on the front of love

John, 😉😘


 Bad, bad, bad ass lady…

(May-day poetry thirty one.)

She was the prettiest gal I ever seen. She was drinking the Johnnie Walker whiskey alone, her shoes were off to the side of her bar stool. Her pretty feet painted in black nail polish moved with the saddest jazz songs. She watched the jazz band and I swear I saw the devil in her eyes. She was a breath taking beauty who could steal your heart with a whisper. She saw me looking at her and she knew. I loved her black tight dress and I wasn’t afraid of her. She smiled and she waved me over. She asked me. Are you just looking tonight Johnnie, I thoughts poets were brave. Not afraid of the night and they loved the bad, bad , bad ass ladies. I told her.

“Beautiful Coco,

just enjoying the view,

just observing the storm a…

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