poems

Psychology of sin

Psychology of sin.

1/12/14

Oh yes dear,
Thou Blasé’ queen
How nothing affects you,
Know what I mean?

With a waft of the arm,
One chin, a notch too high
She’s sat in the night
One part hollow, two parts sly.

You’re intrigued and by definition,
She’s already won.
The game you didn’t even know had begun.

Crosses her legs.
Skirt a hair length too high.
Blowing out smoke,
An exaggerated sigh.

How you whistled inside
Not just with your ears.
But with blindness to facts as you fell for her tears.

“she’s using you” your friend insists.
“Don’t be stupid!” Yells another.
But she’s so perfect.
The spitting image of your mother.

Copyright G.P Williamson 2014.

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