Vixen

Ground down

 the coffee spiced smell of indecency

spills an acre of love on the kitchen floor

The laughing cow across the street, 

bellows her way through her third cream cake..

The breakers break 

and so does the morning.. 

Slow, dry, churning sensation in her clouds...

The planes juggle the birds 

the butterfly's flutter on a wing and a prayer, 

and in her silky underwear...

Who'd have thought it 

Sweet Elephant boy 

narrow as pancake,
 With  singed singing heart..

He woos her
 his short jokes and timely demeanor..
becoming metronome...

Vixen plays her game 

uncanny and compromised...

As beautiful and as French as can be... 

smoking his Gitanes and drinking his cold ground coffee...

(c) Helena C Carta