Noir sonnets: The Dame
She’s beautiful the way a knife is sharp. She makes me drunker than a fifth of scotch. One smile and she can play me like a harp. Her heart’s a gun, and I’m the latest notch. There’s nothing that’s beneath her or above her. She’s silk and silver, with a soul of sludge. When she says “I” she means her and her lover; When she says “We” she means her and her grudge. She’ll screw me till my life’s totally effed-- She’ll say "I'll always love you" to my face-- Then hit the road and make me think I left (But keep the door cracked open just in case). She’ll find a way to make me hers for life, Then stab me so I never feel the knife.
Copyright 2012 Matthew J Wells