Oh Lady

Oh lady,
you can’t justify
the ever growing morose
stains on those satin lips
you lie and call
your own
any longer.

Why had the boys
all over called themselves
criers at your feet
if there had not been
something there
for them to want?

And only now
you bay at a moon
you feel you deserve
and you let your toes curl
like fancy hair cuts.

Smile for me then,
and laugh a little louder,
scream a hyena-chuckle for me,
because I’ve let go.

I had thought
I would let you drown
in a pool of my regrettable
victories, but I see now
you’re filed in a deeper drawer.

Somewhere closer to a heartstring,
once plucked;
forever resonate.

And happy.