She sizzles upon a half sprung metaphor
that rings the tones of her phone
Highfalutin her stilettos
that draws the charm of roving eyes
to the portrayal of clandestine dreams
And the promise of the night.
Skirt worn to the tips
where arse hangs its lullaby
of sweet spoken sways that lays
In the dreams of boys.
Yesterday was a high dollar
a trip down the market square
made her feel good they say
that the spender wore his top hat
and danced her like ginger Rogers
Upon the twilight haze of gin and cigar smoke.
He played her well,
every cent earned upon a dime
placed the bets where the girlfriend bends
And conjoures the old baritone.
Today, half worn to the night before
her night looms like doom itself
nothing picking upon the strip
no daring charge nor twenty buck tip
Only the cops that wing their way
Between the potential would bes.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph