the kiss of the beekeeper’s daughter

she was hard wired to lay them down

wore black lipstick
blew white smoke,
“as long as you’re under my roof, you’ll
do as i say,” her father shouted
bees in white boxes make honey for sipping tea,
she picked up an iron skillet cooking
chicken in peanut oil
and sprawled him out on an unscrubbed
kitchen floor where memories
of her mother remained along with a 
dirty mop and cigarette burns
she pushed him aside like clothes waiting
to be washed,
opened a screen door and jumped in 
four wheels without a top
stone and gravel hit up against aluminum
siding with a downpour sound
bubble gum machine on a black and white
hung onto a chrome bumper
she pulled over,
she grabbed his
uniform tie,
her lips brushed his mouth like toothpaste,
he did a six by six
she laid a black rose over his heart;
cruised into a sleazy part of town, parked
her wheels outside a joint
walked in with a lit cigarette and killer legs,
cheap looks were all over her 
ordered something dirty, stood by old songs
on a jukebox
guy grabbed her arm, wanted to dance, kneed
him privately,
moved on the floor, swaying like the music was
following her beat
something tall and handsome walked in, caught
her eye
stamped out the cigarette and slow walked over,
he grabbed her waist
racked his teeth on her gums
died instantly,
rigor mortis set in much as miscreants move into
affluent neighborhoods
she blew the place;
next day, country fair, selling kisses 
for a dollar…

Copyright © 06/06/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®



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