Thursday, October 18, 2012


The huntress locking eyes with the gentleman in the smoking jacket. 
No rifles in this forest of neon lights, boots slick with spilt drinks not mud. 
The dirt on the faces of everyone around is not a product of mother nature. 
The grime of secrets and infidetly worn like bullet links, a weapon appeal. 
The huntress looking like the prey, slinking around with all the right ammunition. 
Capturing moments with her teeth, on the rim of iced glasses. 
The potions are something sultry and pure, knocking out her smoking gentleman. 
There is absolute delight in the clutches of her hundred dollar manicured claw. 
The bait is taken, the man swoons with confidence and cockiness. 
As if  he has the upper hand when clearly she is on top here. 
The huntress loading his lip with the slick of a lipstick tube. 
The huntress tempting her own temptations with the snap of her heals. 
The huntress and the smoking jacket, forgetting the field in the dark of the night. 
The huntress comes alive in the night, with the support of the moonlight.

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