Soap On A Rope Poem by Ted Sheridan

She leaves the warm water
running in the cold porcelain sink
as she scrubs the Night's secrets
from her lying painted face.
Her lipstick is smeared
by temptations far too great
in times of confessions, like these
she promises you things
which she can never keep.
With her insatiable appetite
for excitable passion
she has little control
over anything that happens.
And you! You big weenie
All you can do is roll over and fall asleep
content in your denial that she would ever leave___


Copyright (C) 2007 Ted Sheridan