Sunday Morning Blues/

Sunday Morning Blues.


She was like wet paint
on sharply curved bannister's,
she had "Don't Touch"
written all over her,
but I was the curious sort.

Three more drinks
and many smiles later,
I climbed her stares to heaven
hanging on for dear life.

She left a stain on my soul,
and a note in my wallet,
thanking me for the cash donation.

I was out fifteen hundred,
while she was probably out
getting a second coat.

Mama had always warned me
about painted ladies
and a bottle of wine.


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Comments 2 comments

Brenda Durham 6 years ago

Very vivid, very good.

Could use some spelling editing! (if ya don't mind me sayin').

But I like it.

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MFB III 6 years ago from United States Author

My blood is often Typo...but I gave this poem a transfusion...thanks for stopping by. I will see yours soon.~~MFB III

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