Curling Smoke

Curling smoke, metallic scented gun,
Still taste essence on tingling tongue.
Sanguine, like her lips, Laboriously ooze,
Reeking of pungent sex and cheap booze.

Prone she lay like cadaver on steel,
Guilt threatens to reject last meal.
Bloodstained sheets our passion bed,
Mocking, where we once placed our head.

Even stonecold, her lovely body enticed,
An obsession just too high priced.
Sirens serenade, reality closing in,
Reaching out to stroke gelid skin.

Closing vacant baby blue eyes,
In death, beauty spews no lies.
Kissing rouge lips once more.
Resignedly opening, pounding door.