There is no sword or artillery weapon
Formed that can strike more fear
And pain than the configuration
Of letters
Castles have been sieged and
Empires have been toppled
By deceit and vengeance
Of the less powerful
The immediate health of
Ones body can be severely
Challenged by the slip
Of a few words
Destroy the words and
And you may find happiness
As you lie to yourself
In a span of minutes, the level of blood racing through my veins was decreasing and I never even knew her name. The events take on a circular path as the ambulance zooms down lighted thoroughfares. The wrath of a woman is the only thing I learned this cloudy evening and only the moon can fully relay my tragic story as the stars stood idle, gazing.
As I entered the smoky domain of the Black Orchid, her perfume surrounded my head as though I was promoted to an admiral of angels. The air was filled with Black and Mild smoke, cheap cologne, and the sweat produced by heavy cotton designed for winter weather being worn in early fall. But all I really saw was a pecan goddess in a green dress, inviting the world into this den of sin. I would have ambled past this dark glass door, but the jade cocoon encasing her butterfly beauty caused my knees to buckle and my body to turn. The place was filled with the sounds of skee-wees and more pinkies in the air than the oldest minister preaching on Super Bowl Sunday. I walked circles around this place, only to return to the center of that green-eyed goddess, draped in shades of emerald and waving off men by the thousands. The dj was armed with music to wax off the aging lines of the previous seven days. His turntable was anointed and he christened our baptism in his music with a jeweled cup of the darkest cognac. I glanced in the wild eyes of dancers as they chicken noodle souped with a peanut butter and jelly on the side.
Her back was turned as I slipped past her Spanish silhouette and squeezed between dope boys and glamorous hood rats to reach the bar. Not really a bar, but plywood set on stilts, shaky to the touch but stable enough to keep a long island iced tea from dousing the already sweaty floor. Before I could order the prettiest Asian princess encircles my arm and rubs the supplest breasts on my biceps. Shimmering hair and eyes that change colors as the rotating lights from the club bathe her face in light. Devious was her grin as she orders 2 drinks. This lady was mesmerizing the room and I could only watch her disappear into the crowd as the bartender’s hand is extended in my direction. I mechanically reach into my pocket and give her a wad of cash and rush in this woman’s direction of exit. My change is lost and her perfume trail is fading fast. Three revolutions later around the club and this Asian moon draped in red is still avoiding my gaze. I notice not the icy stares from the temptress in green as I keep passing her by. In the midst of R. Kelly giving thanks to the beauty of women, a hand grabs mine & leads me to the dance floor. My mind is racing as I gaze into the eyes of the sweetest angel as she still holds the drink I unknowingly bought earlier. I speak and she laughs, as she rests her head on my shoulder. The mood of the music is intoxicating and her scent is so enticing. Even as I enjoy the warmth of her body, something small keeps shattering this vision. My third eye does not see the angry stares emanating from the jade goddess. The girl of the green dress is stalking our every move as certainly as a lion crawls through the tall grass of a savannah.
I awake to the sound of breathing machines and sterile hospital smells. My friends stir as my eyes open and my heart rate increases. I remember the white light and long gone family reaching for my hand to enter the gate. But I raced away as the light slowly faded into blackness. Bewilderment paints my face and I question my whereabouts. Three hours later as the story unfolds to my listening ear, I sigh in recognition. It seems that a bridge of friendship was blown to rubble when, a few weeks earlier, the Asian goddess committed sin with the fiancé of the jade temptress. The wedding was called off and revenge began to seethe within her breast. The Asian lady was rumored to have a boyfriend of some years who she was planning to marry, that unfortunately fit my description. The jade temptress, upon seeing our merriment and joy, decided that the best revenge is to hurt someone the other loved. Some aspiring sex partner, aka dope boy #234, was contracted on-site to do the honors. The blade entered my chest and the grim reaper touched my shoulder. The music covered my screams of pain and the knife took two more opportunities to enter my chest. Life took on a new meaning and certain death arrived with clarity. To this day I won’t let my Spanish wife or my Asian girlfriend wear red or green dresses.
Formed that can strike more fear
And pain than the configuration
Of letters
Castles have been sieged and
Empires have been toppled
By deceit and vengeance
Of the less powerful
The immediate health of
Ones body can be severely
Challenged by the slip
Of a few words
Destroy the words and
And you may find happiness
As you lie to yourself
In a span of minutes, the level of blood racing through my veins was decreasing and I never even knew her name. The events take on a circular path as the ambulance zooms down lighted thoroughfares. The wrath of a woman is the only thing I learned this cloudy evening and only the moon can fully relay my tragic story as the stars stood idle, gazing.
As I entered the smoky domain of the Black Orchid, her perfume surrounded my head as though I was promoted to an admiral of angels. The air was filled with Black and Mild smoke, cheap cologne, and the sweat produced by heavy cotton designed for winter weather being worn in early fall. But all I really saw was a pecan goddess in a green dress, inviting the world into this den of sin. I would have ambled past this dark glass door, but the jade cocoon encasing her butterfly beauty caused my knees to buckle and my body to turn. The place was filled with the sounds of skee-wees and more pinkies in the air than the oldest minister preaching on Super Bowl Sunday. I walked circles around this place, only to return to the center of that green-eyed goddess, draped in shades of emerald and waving off men by the thousands. The dj was armed with music to wax off the aging lines of the previous seven days. His turntable was anointed and he christened our baptism in his music with a jeweled cup of the darkest cognac. I glanced in the wild eyes of dancers as they chicken noodle souped with a peanut butter and jelly on the side.
Her back was turned as I slipped past her Spanish silhouette and squeezed between dope boys and glamorous hood rats to reach the bar. Not really a bar, but plywood set on stilts, shaky to the touch but stable enough to keep a long island iced tea from dousing the already sweaty floor. Before I could order the prettiest Asian princess encircles my arm and rubs the supplest breasts on my biceps. Shimmering hair and eyes that change colors as the rotating lights from the club bathe her face in light. Devious was her grin as she orders 2 drinks. This lady was mesmerizing the room and I could only watch her disappear into the crowd as the bartender’s hand is extended in my direction. I mechanically reach into my pocket and give her a wad of cash and rush in this woman’s direction of exit. My change is lost and her perfume trail is fading fast. Three revolutions later around the club and this Asian moon draped in red is still avoiding my gaze. I notice not the icy stares from the temptress in green as I keep passing her by. In the midst of R. Kelly giving thanks to the beauty of women, a hand grabs mine & leads me to the dance floor. My mind is racing as I gaze into the eyes of the sweetest angel as she still holds the drink I unknowingly bought earlier. I speak and she laughs, as she rests her head on my shoulder. The mood of the music is intoxicating and her scent is so enticing. Even as I enjoy the warmth of her body, something small keeps shattering this vision. My third eye does not see the angry stares emanating from the jade goddess. The girl of the green dress is stalking our every move as certainly as a lion crawls through the tall grass of a savannah.
I awake to the sound of breathing machines and sterile hospital smells. My friends stir as my eyes open and my heart rate increases. I remember the white light and long gone family reaching for my hand to enter the gate. But I raced away as the light slowly faded into blackness. Bewilderment paints my face and I question my whereabouts. Three hours later as the story unfolds to my listening ear, I sigh in recognition. It seems that a bridge of friendship was blown to rubble when, a few weeks earlier, the Asian goddess committed sin with the fiancé of the jade temptress. The wedding was called off and revenge began to seethe within her breast. The Asian lady was rumored to have a boyfriend of some years who she was planning to marry, that unfortunately fit my description. The jade temptress, upon seeing our merriment and joy, decided that the best revenge is to hurt someone the other loved. Some aspiring sex partner, aka dope boy #234, was contracted on-site to do the honors. The blade entered my chest and the grim reaper touched my shoulder. The music covered my screams of pain and the knife took two more opportunities to enter my chest. Life took on a new meaning and certain death arrived with clarity. To this day I won’t let my Spanish wife or my Asian girlfriend wear red or green dresses.
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