royal gloves
smooth poem
seeping smoothly through the cascades of feathers
she rolls them up like sleeves for effect
gently enchanting the party
couples move smoothly on the dance floor
playing roulette with the devil
in competitions with
baccarat chemin de fer
and flutes of champagne
they are waiting for her smooth talk
singled out from the crowd
it sounds
like a nightingale singing
amidst green envy
smooth sweet droplets sprinkle
leaves and soil
leaving nothing significant
staring glances, stunned gestures wander
following the Perfect scent
to the heart of things
where nothing can mislead
already on the trail
immersed deep in gold
telling stories of noble times
where Brahms burst through the windows
recalling her youthful love
the one with the smooth cheeks and the bow
a cavalier descending to the common
people fed on royal pulp
everyone is now shushed
looking at her raising her regal head
for she reigns alone
and her gown has real feathers
of an owl piercing through the great-grandparents’ lore
leading straight to the gallows
taking all misfortunes on board
and melting them into fine dust
forming new life
the one that goes smoothly into history
---
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About the Creator
Mescaline Brisset
if it doesn't come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don't do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don't do it.
so you want to be a writer? – Charles Bukowski
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