February

Chanel number sixteenth, open windows and twisted breeze,

Your heat is my opium, feed me please.

Flash to foil, lips to straw,

Breathing you there, burning my flaws.

The pitless fruit of my cross-eyed addiction,

Scrubbing away, penning our fiction.

Salted gelato and three-legged chairs,

They shine when I cry, diamond ace pairs.

Dice on a table, odds wound broke,

Mystic seduction in chase of the choke.

A bar maven, a junkie of the noir,

Your game isn’t fun anymore.

Reviews

[ChemicalMadness]

this was excellent. i'm not often a fan of a formal rhyme structure in poetry, because it's so often done poorly. Not here. this flows smoothly as intended.

the pitiless fruit of my cross-eyed addiction, scrubbing away, penning our fiction - great line, that.
CM

[BL]

Like this it has a good rhyme in it and nice choice of words

[jacob erin-cilberto]

your rhythm reminds me of gwendolyn brooks...

and thematically a bit too...you are quite the weaver of words...

and what antonio said...that line is surely a keeper.

jacob

[zainul]

The rhyme is so sweet that I read it twice as a song.
Thanks for sharing.

[Antonio Valentino]

"Your heat is my opium, feed me please."

fantastic line

a lot of talent throughout this piece, thank you for sharing

i didnt know chanel had a number 13

Antonio

[Chaos_Collector]

You have an excellent sense of rhythm and it shows in this poem. Eloquently done Mrs. Brooks

Chaos_Collector