You could never be my beau


I love frou-frou

and feather boas

 

I love swan feather face powder poufs

I love reams of silk

 

and dressing film noir

In my black and powder pink

boudoir

 

I love dancing in a champagne glass

the wide-brimmed ones of an era passed

 

I love a slick of vampire red lipstick

That rims my long cigarette

 

And twirling through the mist

of fragrance that smells like a woman

not dessert

 

I love feline eyes

gunmetal skies

and I adore my pasty pillowy thighs

 

I purr for real fur.

 

In the pocket of my chinchilla coat

I pet my fat albino rat

 

I love my geeky reading glasses

I prefer subtle passes

 

I love black coffee

Isaphan pastry

I love Marie-Antoinette cakes

and bloody steaks

 

Burlesque boudoir babes

frighten you

that speaks volumes

about why you had to go

 

Little men like you

could never be my beau

 

 

© Anél Olsson

 

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One thought on “You could never be my beau

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