Broom. Cats. & Dreams.

By Rudolph Lewis

I tasted a spoonful, my tongue

deep in her cherry wine,  that blooming flower

was sweating dew drops. Her words

struck me like lightening when she told

me some joker had stole her & she won’t

come back. How the rain feels so unkind

God knows cocaine’s out of style,

yet she's rambling, waiting for a woman

with mean things in  her mind

I'd  be down on bended knees,

if it weren't such a cliché on hurt

feelings, on wanting the unaffordable

I had her naked like a nymph in

1999 one Sunday afternoon on Druid Hill

grass, the sun turning red, I dropped down

like a cane on sweet tender flesh

she said coyly “you ain’t that bad”

& she tasted it some more. I was

kidnapped, screaming on a rough sea

It seemed like hours, days, eternity

we lowdown in the illusive weeds

I grinding the blues, dying in her

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