Tortured Logic, Goodbye Natasha
Natasha, Do not trick me into love
with keen dark eyes and warm sex.
Do not purr all hot and lusty
into my ear, let love rest.
I can not breathe with blades of love
tearing into my chest. My lungs fail
to expand, my stomach collapses
under the pressure of your thin skin.
Up against my hard bones, I feel your
fine breasts, your hips, your legs,
and they are knives thrusting crazy,
deeper than you can imagine.
Your milky flesh, straight black hair,
your slender frame, honed curves,
your insistent rousing whisperings
are no different than the guillotine.
I am unclean. My heart bleeds endlessly.
My mind is tormented by dreams.
I have everything and nothing
and the last thing I need is a woman
willing to pierce my soul, kiss me tenderly,
take me to the movies, take me dancing.
Damn straight, the last thing I need is
the loving arms of a woman holding me.
Dean Walker
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