Bedding the Butterfly

I watch you watch her wriggle
center stage, bait for the guy
with orange hair and bad voice
netting the throbbing crowd.

The guitar worships her,
kisses her sweet ass,
pubescent hips gyrating
in the doo-whap thick of the night.

I know you will grope me later,
imagining her instead,
her halter top tossed free
and floating-

your red sequined butterfly
of receding youth,
on our cold hardwood floor.

Pris Campbell

Published in Thunder Sandwich 
Jan 2005

Artwork: In the Heat of the Night
  by Marques Vickers

Please click on his name to visit Marques Vickers' fascinating site. He has appeared with my poetry several times. A California artist, he works in a variety of mediums and he truly mesmerizes with his talent.

Music: It's All Over Now

Return to Poetry Index I (Collaborations)
Return to Homepage