Woman of Desire

A woman, in coiffure look of a 60's model,

wandered in

In a striking manner so that attention was her cocktail

for the evening – shaken, not stirred.

 

As distracting as her motions were,

they could not mask her lost way

her vulnerabilities were transparent.

  

Though, she wore a young demeanor,

it belied that innocence was not much a question

for even the low lights could not disprove that hard face.

 

She claimed a social gadfly

telling of travels abroad here and there – a continental bon vivant

while wearing her small town charms

her cleavage clearly over matched

this place where the commuter train still remains exotic fare

away from plain, simple and common

the triple entrance to the local cemetery.

 

She wore glasses that seem staged

to find intelligence in the eye

using the mannerism of an orchestra conductor

elaborately weaving her song

speaking without pause

so to command her place

using mimicked literal phrasing and inflected tones.

 

Her intentions are oblique –  theatrical

not entirely clear sitting in a nearly empty bar

waiting the eleventh hour of the night.

 

Her appearance and dress alluring

however, proper enough for a teacher (she suggests)

perhaps, a vicarious play; a tease

for an evening's match.

 

Midnight calls anew for the lost

the adventure seekers;

the agents of the dark muse ...

while the day closes for the saner elements

that must greet the next dawn.

 

Such it is when the early last call comes

as the moon’s arc seeks time in apex

and the pentagram flips to the inverted position

 

She explains an old past

where an intriguing story of a stalker

enters her thoughts ...

an obsessive admirer who sought elation

from his teacher of fealty .

 

Then with a guilty glance back she states,

“I was once

who I was once

until all evidence betrayed me...

by proving -  it really does not matter

when there is a 7th change

gluttony is the last sin.

 

Tomorrow will follow - wrath.”