harlequinn

I am donning sexy bags under my eyes today thanks to my friend insomnia. That is why I don't plan on making love to my camera in the near future.

I wish dating weren't such a complicated beast. I love it but it's confusing, fun, and occasionally a little painful.

So I recently got a poem of mine accepted to a really nice poetry journal and just got the copy of the Volume with my poem in it in the mail! It's beautiful. I love it. Submitting poetry is such a hobby of me; I get so many rejections but I feel like it's humbling and the only time I can really get rejected without taking it super personally. I'm hoping that toughness will help me here if/when I get accepted/start submitting sets. The poem is "The Mona Lisa". Hell, I'll post it.

The Mona Lisa

Making love to her would be like
lighting leather moccasins on fire.
You would have to break her in and burn her.
Mid-foreplay she would get
the urge for a smoky Shiraz
and lose all lust for your baby.

The vacancy in her face
winks like cheap motel neon;
her eyes are two empty
iron buckets, her smile
as flat as fingernails.

She's a pot-bellied beauty.
If liberated, she would lick her palms,
slick back her hair,
and bite through belts.

Her small grin still cuts the glass
as she catches dust
in her sparse moustache.
Beneath the frame she displays yellow,
lacy legs for sweaty tourists
and I flock, a moth seducing a chandelier.