Silked

I've met your acquaintance. She is a good friend of mine.
Two in the same, though she's more her than I am, for now.

But it will come again, as it was, better, or worse.

With velvet black that hugs (so warming), when in the gutter, piss and puddle soaked; a smile.
Cracked and knotted and bare.
A drunkard whore whose face washed off when she was feeling.
Those grey streaks along her cheeks? How inelegant.

So much skin, it doesn't work.
Lying there though, in the gutter,
You wouldn't.

Why?

Why did I ask, I’ll find out anyway..

Women!

Formal and fitted, from the inside out.
It's lonely I suppose. Well, I don't. She does.
I like that it's there, for now. I like her.

But, ah! To be light again, kicking through those dusty skulls that littered that craggy mountain top,
Instead; heavy on the bleak grey pavement, thud, thud, thud.
Solid and still, and taking up space,
MEss. No ecstasy skipping through you little miss. Shame for it.

Back then, i was her, made the same.

But that was then.
No longer slumped over in an alley, too repulsive and dripping to even be raped.



Not her, not i, not now. (maybe later)