NOT HER KIND. | By: Terry Collett | | Category: Short Story - Lost Love Bookmark and Share


Baxter isnít your
Kind of man at all;
Too full of himself,

With that darn awful
Swagger, just like a
Poor manís Cagney,

An imitation
Right down to the dark
Evil looking eyes.

He never throws his
Money around; just
His fists and sometimes

At you, just when you
Are least expecting
It, when you think he's

In a good mood, when
you think that his dark
Demons are away

On a vacation.†
And it always comes
Back to the flowers

And the box of chocs
And the I donít know
What came over me

Talk, and the big sad
Eyes look and he there
Kissing your hand all

Gentlemanly like;
But itís just a sham,
His way of getting

Back inside your head,
Heart and underwear.
The last time he slapped

You he loosened a
Tooth; the blood spoilt your
Blouse, numbed your mouth; there

Were teeth marks on his
Hard knuckles. He likes
To make love to you

In the afternoons;
Shafts you as often
And as rough as he

Can; nights you suspect
He spends with other
Dames, with other lips,

Hearts and different
Names and maybe he
Treats them just as rough

And mean, and makes love
To them all in such
Different ways, just

As he did with you
In those long sweaty
Nights, in former days.

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