Joan of Arc

                         Joan of Arc

I watched her dance alone. I loved watching her, her movement of slow and easy and her hips and legs allowing the music to steal her away. Her eyes were closed and he knew. She was dreaming of wonderful days and nights stolen by life poor decisions.

When she open her eyes. The softness of her pretty eyes displayed fake smile. He knew she left alone and she sat by the Pacific sea and she cries for things lost. She was remembering kind faces and sweet words. Today she cannot remember who left and who was wrong.

I followed her to the Monterey bay with some California sweet red wine. I sat with her and I handed her a wine glass. I whispered to her. My Joan of Arc. The war is over. Old regret and sour memories. Leave us swimming in misery and the blood of things we cannot change.

She smiled at me and she accepted the glass. She asked. I know you are the dark Poet. You have been observing for one month and you paid for my coffee many times. Never said but a few word to me till tonight. I smiled and I told her. The brave knight must be ready to be turn away from the woman with the eyes of wonder and of great mystery. She laughed at his words. What words could you own to save a dying lady. I smiled and I told her. A poesy for you my kind lady.

—

My Joan of Arc

Lovely is, lovely true.
I love your face of gentleness.
I have told you in private.
Dark life, colorless life make your beautiful face more sweet and tempting.
I told you my Joan of Arc.
When I saw your lovely tempting red dress today and your legs covered in blackness of soft lace made a fearless soldier beg for mercy and forgiveness before he had won or loss.
I know you are burning up into a external fire of everlasting sadness.
Please allow me to be the wood and you can be the fire.
Allow us to create a new flame that can expand and make us brave again.
You can be my savior and maybe I can save you my Joan of Arc.

——-
She smiled and she laughed. She took my hands and she kissed them. She whispered to me. Dear dark Poet, your wish is deadly. The Joan of Arc who once won great battles. Left many dead on the battlefield. Did they fought for her or country? The soldier poet can be dangerous. You made me wish for the September wine and the lover’s nights. Can you handle a woman wanting too little or too much. She poured the wine into the glasses and she asked. Would you dance with a pretty gal near the wild Pacific ocean? Would you hold me tighter when I cry for things lost? Will you be jealous if I love other things more than you?

I smiled and we touched the wine glasses. I told her. Men will die for less and men will die for more. Wood and fire must meet. We must know. Fear, anger and tears. We must know. Perfect nights and be unafraid of the unknown dance. War and old suffering need the cure of a million kisses and the escape from the memories of battle.

She stood-up and she took my hand. She took me to the sea and she rested her beautiful face against me and she whispered. The night is long and you are making me brave. Allow the moon and the stars to bless us. Let’s pray for love sweetness dear Poet.

Johnnie/Coyote