So, We Baked Satan A Pie..

The occasional singe suffered from sparks

that flew from her,

seemed the potential hazard

of a dullard's misstep.

Her purple laughter punctured

all lavender pretense.

Together we thumbed our toes at convention;

hitchhiking on a blown-up

dandelion puff's white eyelashes,

floating ahead of our colour coordinated delusions,

spontaneously appearing to dangle

like intrigue from fate's most forbidden finger,

as if we were both a strange coincidence

familiar to each other-

a passion shared for grand illusion,

talent wasted daily by the sparse requirements

of mere existance.

 We indulged ourselves,

extravagantly amusing each other.

Lonely cronies feigning dubious intent,

vamping voids of persistent inconsistencies,

dragging our minds down the backs of half-truths,

admitting we liked sleeping alone,

even though we sometimes woke

to memory's smothering footsteps,

old pain pacing round the bed insisting

sorrow rise to sing her circling dirge.

The outrage of each tragedy

smoked down to the stub

and put out in weeping ashtrays.

Making up names to mock the devil

for not being able to break

two lousy dames.