I left my memory
in a run-down hotel
all damp patches
& peeling plaster.
Who am I?
Wish I knew!
Maybe I'm a salesman
travelling in lady's underware.
Naw...that don't seem right!
I looked into the blurr
that formed & unformed
before me
constructing in my mind's eye
a Hollywood smile
that's all stage set
nothing behind it
but...
fakily real.
She had an Art Deco heart
she wore on her sleeve
bit frayed
'round the edges.
and a laugh that lingered
like perfume.
'Hi, Petal! '
her lopsidded grin
was all femme
fatale.
She spoke
in Film Noir.
I knew
the lingo.
'Remember me? '
she sighed softly
as if caressing herself
remembering me caressing her.
I sure wish I remembered it
in intimate detail.
I'm a stickler for detail.
This broad
was slim
but with curves
in all the right places
; ; ; if ya get my drift.
Her laugh was all
lightness and lavender.
'Good...good! '
she cooed.
'I see your erection is at least
listening! '
I involuntary
covered my crotch
with both hands
as if I was naked.
I wish she was.
Her curves flowed
like very runny honey
over the back of a spoon
trickling on to the tip
of a tongue.
She was strictly
yum as in YUM!
Then she went
all Cubist on me
as if she'd been badly drawn
by that Picasso artist.
I felt like a 2-D
drawing
as she approached me
in 3-D.
My conscience found
its voice
(down behind
the back of the couch)
It wheezed and wheedled
like it was Peter Lore.
'Ouch! ' I ouched.
'Ok...ok! '
I announced in a too loud voice
'I believe I know...
....who done it! '
'It was...' I stammered.
'It was...' I stuttered.
'Cut it...Cutes! '
she snapped like knicker elastic.
'I guess we both know the score.'
She somehow contrived
allowed her dress to fall
to the floor
where it pooled at her feet
like a green silk
puddle.
'Hey has anybody told you
you look just like Pot a chelli's
Birth(I burp) of Venus! '
'Cut the wise cracks Jack...
it was the drink
...done it! '
'You just had one bottle of Baileys
too many! '
'But now...it's finished...ya hear
...finshed! '
She threw the bottle
over her naked shoulder.
I listened to her
in glorious Technicolour hangover.
She poured her body
all around me
like jelly
in a mold.
'Hung over sure...but
I think I got the cure! '
Her kiss was like
the last page
of a damn good Who
...dun it!
finally falling
falling
falling
into place.
I kissed her
lovely face.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is just absolutely a wonderful trip down memory lane of the 40-50's film noir! Thanks for taking me there!