truth

she walks into a room her hips swiveling like some love-torn thing

and her eyes smoking… puffing opium like evaporated velvet diamonds.

{Marilyn Monroe}

i feel like her. Gentlemen Prefer Blonds and Some Like It Hot… in

the mirror away from her image i walk around, raising an eyebrow at

myself, smiling coyly… tongue runs warm, leaving trails of sultry

dancers with sparkling teeth scented with a touch of gin and tonic;

under the strange, dim light of cigarette smoke you can see the rich

reflection in my lips, soft, shiny, red…

. . . i am your Marilyn Monroe . . .