The Violet Nights

She pulls herself back onto the love seat,
untangling herself from the throw and weighted limbs.
Bare to the mahogany nylon threads,
she scoops her knee into the bend of her elbow,

trailer scenes looping against the light above the kitchen sink,
above the body she left simmering
next to the coffee table, unmoved upon her departure,
expended, he let himself gorge on her, rented

ignoring the glances towards the clock and door
left unchained, she stayed in frame
reaching, grasping and sparking a cigarette, embers to the rug,
exasperated puffs while the man’s lips begin to quiver.

the doorknob clicks and the hinges whisper,
Nike’s over the threshold and then the matted barrel
the caper stepped easy though the man lay seizing
as she scoops her puddled dress and shoes.

“He’s got jewelry in the room to the left,” she says,
taking the bills and leaving the rest.

– B. Brown

via DailyPrompt: Gorge

(image courtesy of Pinterest)

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