Bad Poetry For Even Badder Women

Her words drop like a guillotine blade, sharp and sudden, surprising and succinct.

Her eyes shine like wet jewels, big and glistening, listening and aware.

Her legs deliver her independence and distribute her power with reason and destination.

Her particulars are carefully doled out with precision, a silent smile in place of a sentence.

Her business is strictly monkey and I’m dangling in this tree like a waiting banana.



Conversations are like liquid. Flowing in moments driven by ideas laced with revelations and laughter.

Conversations can be wicked. Bestowing atonement within the sweet taste of salacious disasters.