Heroes and Villians
Men in my life, the stuff of memory
My women, the ghosts of dreams
Men may cogitate, then talk
Women vascilate, then walk
I remember my first teacher, he
taught me how to spell and stuff;
I remember my first teacher, she
caught me in her spell enough.
I’d like to visit men again,
Where every word can get replayed;
I’d like to walk my dreams again,
Where she has left her scent displayed.
I like what men want, a leader, follower,
Travel mate, real old school.
Women leave me nervous, their wants
may barter to a selfish rule.
But when the day stills the priscilla’s flow,
Except for the fan’s low sultry hum,
There’s no better way to burn the time,
Than on her satin skin hibachi.
She has bottled night flowers,
And spread their tempting petals,
Where I might find them after hours,
When all the daynoise simply settles.
Men trudge through a muddy memory,
She dares dance through whispy dreams,
They all share some private part of me,
Where nothing’s just as it seems.
Heroes and villains after all,
Rest dictated such by chance,
They, storied children of the fall,
All died hungering for romance.
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