Mother Nature - Poem by s./j. goldner
I could sleep with him a million times
and he'd still be a volatile son-of-a-bitch.
His parents don't know what he never saw in her:
he couldn't see past the charm into her
her cunning wits—
charged like a negative ion.
Not unapproachably pretty—
she rocked every persona she encountered,
leaving the petty to their petty ways.
Picking the brains clean with her dry realism—
her sadistic thirst for life;
the unquenchable desire she was equipped with
Pathetic and desperate, incorrect description.
Mad and brilliant, exact representation.
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