Reasons I am a bad poet. By request from Nikki.
Cold, long without definition, I watch you with your with forked tongue which intrigues. I choose not to touch you as you move slithering beside me, ready to strike or gaze at me with fiery indifference.
Trust, the undeniable thread we do not share and we never will.
You tempted Eve. You will not tempt me but I’m not afraid although you brought in Lilith with your charm and promises that will never be fulfilled. You are as scared of me as I am of you. We weigh each other with respect, or maybe is it just apathy or defiance? Is it just you live in your world and I live in mine? For moments we tease each other as our worlds collide. We will never know.
It is the forked tongue I am compelled by.
You shed your skin, as I watch. Renewal. I am intrigued.
I see you move slowly away. I am reminded that despite your history, you are still a snake.
The truck that hit you was just a bonus that I won in our competition of who the survivor might be.
I win by patience.
And a fast-moving Dodge Ram.
This will probably be the last in our bad poetry segment. Or not.
Bad poetry is fun.