Pulp Vixen

Beat Pulp (Couple of expletives)

She was born of gin and magic,

Poured slowly into a glass too small

On the rocks,

With a vagina twist.

She wore arctic heels,

And fishnet stockings that couldn’t catch a sperm whale

 

Cigarette between her lips, at the dangle.

Like a freshly drained c**k,

And she was the only hen in the house.

A cat-like smirk

She never gave her game away.

Always ready to scratch at the next rat that walked by.

 

With two balls in her side pocket,

There was no place in the ladies room for her.

The bar was ice.

And she was the heat.

All the men were puddles,

In more ways than one.

 

You always knew what she wasn’t thinking.

A top-dollar w***e,

All between the eyes.

With merely a glance

You were mind-fucked, and

She was onto her next John.

 

Cleavage that was more a confession than a hint

Her head at some bourgeois angle,

Her chin pointing towards her next drink.

Behind her smoke veil,

She exhaled white contrails,

Blood-red lips ready to paint you victim.

 

She’d read you like a bad detective novel,

Tearing out the pages one by one,

Throwing you to the ground.

Liquor scented vexation,

All you could do was bend over, smile and

Ask for another round.