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



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



One thought on “You could never be my beau

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