Loathing Of Embers Poem by Michael Maul

Brown hair that smells of vanilla lavender.
Lipstick that sets fire to my lips.
Curves that ensure childbirth at will.
6: 00 pm was a drug that kept a most innocent sailor intoxicated as he washed ashore.
As I found a trespass upon my heart that unforgiving afternoon in December I wept like a child.
A counterfit love that entered into matrimony without regard for the destruction it left in it's wake.
Is it better to have loved and lost?
A most hateful indiscretion to never again see the fog of the morning to come.
She could not have ensured her demise more assuredly without eating a pistol on a bed of full of unclipped thorns.