Friday, August 7, 2009


She paints her nails
Black as night
Puts on stilettos
With polished toes peeking through

Long legs and a whiskey smile
She walks out the door
Looking for trouble
She finds a club

Red dress
Hips like honey
The music flows
Her body sways

Lick her lips
Fan the flames
It’s sex on the dance floor
Hot and wrong

She leads you by your tongue
Breathes excitement into your mouth
She’s a slave to the rhythm

A slave to the beat
The music’s low and heavy
She’s dirty girl

You think you’ve hit the jackpot
As she drags you to the alley
Boiling in your veins

She reaches for your belt
You grin in anticipation
Then something catches in the moonlight
Pleasure becomes pain becomes pleasure

Vision blurs—something trickles—wet
She licks your throat
Through the haze of lust you realize
She’s a stone cold bitch

She’s death in stilettos


  1. Well sure, that's okay if you like your poetry dark, sexy and compelling.

    But it didn't even rhyme!

  2. Lol. Well, that's no limerick.

    Rhymes are okay...when I'm in the mood for them. This time I wasn't.


  3. This is wonderful! I had the picture in my head. Well done you.