We get what we deserve

I wrote on the bar napkin, a name of a kind woman who is dead to me now.

Once the Bacchus wine made lovers of us, we were half crazy and mostly drunk on the Long Island ice teas.

I remember tracing her half-dressed body with my desperate hands and falling into her bosom. I told her. I want to write poetry on your pale skin and taste the bitterness, the sweetness of your alluring curves and valleys. I want to know what make you blush, what make you smile. You and I. Just Gypsy dancers on the California sand, loving the hot Monterey nights. Us reckless soul love the saddest jazz and hate the bitterness of the lover’s kiss. Love be damn, love be pretenders wishing for forever. She was a thief and I was the liar. I told her often.

“Kellie, Kellie, dear Kelli.

Make me, brake me.

Make me feel alive,

bleed me out till I can’t do it no-more.

You are the hardest whiskey,

the softest kisses,

the hardest gal to forget.

I want to smell the fragrant of your skin,

I want your breathe upon my chest,

I need those dark eyes to seek my eyes when we do the 3 am dance.

Kellie, Kellie, my lovely.

We blindfold our eyes, seek the shade of the liar’s prayer.

Love me long, love me more.

Make no promises.

Sin and the whiskey we do love.

We get what we deserve dear Kelli,

we get what we deserve dear Kelli.”

The bartender told me. Johnnie, she is here. You prayed  for her and you awoke her from her sweet slumber, with the poet’s prayer. Some prayers can brake you back my friend. Some woman are fire and brimstone.

She touched his shoulder and she whispered. Johnnie, Johnnie, you are back from another war and I heard your voice on my phone recorder. I turned and I saw her eyes of the darkest brown, she wore her tight black dress and I smelled the sweetness of her perfume. I told her, soldiers like war, soldiers love the darkest ladies and the soldiers  love the woman who cannot lie.

She wrapped her arms around me. She whispered, you are the bravest soldier I know. We have found each other in our darkest times. You never request to stay and sometimes I needed you to stay. You like the rage I hold, you love when I am frail and you love me more. When I cling to you. You are brave, maybe foolish?

I whispered. Kelli, Kelli,  my dear Kelli. I adore the person who you are. We are dancers upon the firestorm of life. I want your hunger, I want your sadness. I want to kiss your havoc, I want you to show me. Your real face and for us to drink coffee at 6 am. Doesn’t need to be love. Just some good company on the hell-highway we live upon.

She smiled and she told the bartender. Another round of the Long Island Ice tea. Johnnie trying to make me believe in the liar’s prayer. The charming poets can make the sea turn blood red and the woman heart softer.

                         Dancing Coyote

Post navigation