The Black Cat
Nothing meant more to me than the black cat,
hesitating at the roadside,
watching the youth gambol,
before the bonnets of moving cars.
Were those lovers? Sleeping in the gutter,
wrapped to each other, perhaps in stupor,
their fingers flowing like rivers over the seams of their clothing,
those fingers unlocked worlds often wandered in dreams
Those worlds would die with the sunrise, and I was jealous.
He'd forget her blue eyes in the morning, and I wouldn't.
As I held my breath and closed my eyes
I hesitated, the bottle was the only thing I saw.
The butterflies and knives in my chest,
the stab at the back of my mouth
meant that none of it had mattered.
The vodka shots, the gun shots,
skipped my heartbeat for hours.
Nudge the door open, slip in, remember,
There was a push from all directions,
there were openings everywhere,
at your lips, the fishnet stockings,
not in my eyes, no they were blurred.
But at your lips it happened,
at your tender mouth I tasted
the sharpest shot ever.
The click.
The sound of falling,
falling from grace, a fall into place.
My eyes never opened.
I fell forward into the gutter.
I wrapped my arms around you.
As if I had found my lost love.
Meanwhile, the black cat stopped hesitating,
and ran into the headlights of the oncoming vehicle.
So what do you think? It's using a sort of different style here which is different to what I've used before
Looking forward to your critiques!
