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a poem by MIchael Mahone
White Guns
She looks up
A line of drool between her chin and me
I smile dreaming
Russian roulette
but my fully loaded gun offers
no comfort
Bang bang, I shoot her down
A light thump, and blood flows in the form
of tears
Reaching my arm as far as it will go
but I can't dry them
Criminal activity renders me impotent
I will never see her cry-
ing face, only in my dreams
eyes that beg to burn my soul clean
parched lips
tense thighs
teasing words
and I believe her lies
A line of drool between her chin and me
I smile dreaming
Russian roulette
but my fully loaded gun offers
no comfort
Bang bang, I shoot her down
A light thump, and blood flows in the form
of tears
Reaching my arm as far as it will go
but I can't dry them
Criminal activity renders me impotent
I will never see her cry-
ing face, only in my dreams
eyes that beg to burn my soul clean
parched lips
tense thighs
teasing words
and I believe her lies
© by Michael Mahone
Gutter Eloquence Magazine ~ Issue #8 ~ March 2010