the red dress

The red lipstick
A pair of eyes wide open
To me you were
Something about you felt more
Tangible than the comic book
Screen existence you’d carved
In my head

Not quite real enough to miss
But crafted enough to desire
We watched Sin City and
You seemed to me as if
You’d stepped from screen
Into my living room

You had
Hair curled into ringlets
Your hair makes ringlets
When we make love
If I‘ve combed it first
I like to brush your hair

Ever since I saw Dominique tap his ear piece
I’ve been suspicious of skin heads and
Music I can’t hear
But I hear you breathing and tonight
You are sleeping as if nothing
Has ever troubled you
I know it has
And now this deep and even
Rhythm of your life beside mine

I have forgotten the getting
In the making of everything that completed
Just ten minutes ago
Can’t find the cigarettes
And if I did, I’d not
Find the lighter
The candles have gone out in the breeze

When you made contact something in me
Snapped and I couldn’t believe
In Father Christmas anymore
You know I’d go to hell for you
Don’t you
And I’ll drive you there in a Mercedes Benz
Just so you’d make it on time.

They said you’d paid for it
And I wanted to ignore that fact
But I couldn’t and began to wonder
How much I was worth
To you, with your ringlets and lipstick
Glistening in the rain
It’s torrential

I’m making sure I’m making the right decision
Checking my strategies
Writing them down
I miss smoking I need to taste
Your lips when

I’m watching you sleep now
Everything turned into negative
Like in film transposed
But the life police called in
And reversed it all

Your boots are the colour of the
Red dirt we waked through on
That day off
I suddenly recall the cute one
Who died in a shower
Best not to think of the past
Just focus on those curls…

Exclusive Poem: © J. L. Nash, 2010
Image: © Sheila Metzner, Joko, Passion, 1987


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