What price beauty?
By Exotic Hippie Queen ©2011
A sky high legend, she nurses Patron Silver
From a sippee cup,
And braids red ribbons into her star-blazed nest of tangles.
Her shar-pei puppy neck whimpers,
Remembering it’s tender day.
She still laughs music from her ears…………..
Notes falling down onto her lap
And splashing out into the lost movement
That once rocked the cradle of her youth,
Now very still.
Simple chemistry and a White Wizard
Remind her face that
vanity
wanted
it’s
way
But nothing can return the Perfect Peaches
To her sunken, ashy cream.
Watching the crowned heads of celebrity
Upload fillers……………
Rabid, her barracuda fangs glisten wicked,
Stalking the nubile for consumption.
Violet eyes roll and flutter
At such obscene lechery
Snow White’s Wicked Queen treachery.
A wide putty knife now patches the cracks and lines of
Adulterous afternoons at cheap motels and
Forgotten nights at the far end of the bar,
With the pasty mix of Lost and Regretable Moments #9,
Applied directly to her face
With a heavy hand.
Catgut zippers
Open and close at any capricious whim,
Without hesitation.
Smoke and mirrors,
A damn practical joke
On an enhanced Mother Nature,
Cheating on an aging Father Time.
The taste for young blood never ends.
Blindly, boldly ignoring the obviously
Carniverous Nature of her
Savage vanity,
She pleads mercy for her squishy, inflamed heart,
Acutely abcessed from a
Rash of Disappearances and
A String of Cold Cases gone missing.
(Why does she lay bare blue, sprawled, lounging
On the pages of my mind,
As night visions of her inflated face float and bounce down
Main Street
Like the giant balloons at Macy’s Christmas parade).
Passionate intent and succulent wildness unfold with
Stubborn purpose
To reveal the raw grit and such pink tenderness
Alternately layered on a True Woman.
We can revel in the enduring
Beauty of Woman
And her soft flesh
Which refuses to fade into extinction,
And rejects the forward progression of
Life’s chaos theory.
Moving past the past,
So slowly,
Never fast…………
She sways to Dylan’s tambourine
With Sunday ease
And drips sacred knowledge from her pores.
Exhale………..an audible sigh for authenticity
She will remain forever:
The sweetest spot in the soul of Eve,
The distant echo that rattles in her seasoned bones.
Fly true.
Exotic Hippie Queen's Third Eye 