The clown, with his red cherub face
A maggot twisting, in his brain
The jack-booted leather Christian
With dull
razorblades, down his spine
Staring down, from high windows
The taste of gin, upon their tongues
Lusty fire crackling, in red eyes
Peering, through a glowing skylight
Her
luscious body lies reclined
Naked, upon a soft, red divan
Bathed, by the nocturnal moonlight
Dark hair,
caressing full breasts
Wineglass in her ruby nailed hand
Cigarette smoke hanging like a mist
Within a glassed,
fishbowl perch
She’s well aware of her voyeurs
In the concrete valley below
A wood fire, perfumed grey fog
Creeps, through the emerald city
Soft street sounds, echoing upward
A lone saxophone,
serenades
The battered open case, lying
Before white patent leather shoes
A hooded figure at the
keys
With faded,
fingerless gloves
The sound of blues,
bathing the air
Reflecting off tall, smoky windows
A yellow cab, slowly crawls to a halt
Door popped, by a finely dressed doorman
He receives, a
firm diamonded hand
Stiletto heels,
strike concrete
She walks the carpeted runway
The cipher locked door
clicks
A crisp, fresh, twenty is passed
The green silked image
melts inside
A close siren
screams, and hearts skip
Gunshots
ring, and distant tires
squeal
The saxophone player pauses, for a breath
The clown and Christian, shift their lusty
gaze
© Copyrights G. Jones 2012
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