A Poem by Amy D. Brooks

Chanel number sixteenth, open windows and twisted breeze,

Your heat is my opium, feed me please.

Flash to foil, lips to straw,

Breathing you there, burning my flaws.

The pitless fruit of my cross-eyed addiction,

Scrubbing away, penning our fiction.

Salted gelato and three-legged chairs,

They shine when I cry, diamond ace pairs.

Dice on a table, odds wound broke,

Mystic seduction in chase of the choke.

A bar maven, a junkie of the noir,

Your game isn’t fun anymore.

© 2013 Amy D. Brooks

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this was excellent. i'm not often a fan of a formal rhyme structure in poetry, because it's so often done poorly. Not here. this flows smoothly as intended.

the pitiless fruit of my cross-eyed addiction, scrubbing away, penning our fiction - great line, that.

Posted 4 Years Ago

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Like this it has a good rhyme in it and nice choice of words

Posted 4 Years Ago

your rhythm reminds me of gwendolyn brooks...

and thematically a bit too...you are quite the weaver of words...

and what antonio said...that line is surely a keeper.


Posted 5 Years Ago

The rhyme is so sweet that I read it twice as a song.
Thanks for sharing.

Posted 5 Years Ago

"Your heat is my opium, feed me please."

fantastic line

a lot of talent throughout this piece, thank you for sharing

i didnt know chanel had a number 13


Posted 5 Years Ago

You have an excellent sense of rhythm and it shows in this poem. Eloquently done Mrs. Brooks


Posted 5 Years Ago

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6 Reviews
Shelved in 2 Libraries
Added on January 29, 2013
Last Updated on February 18, 2013
Tags: February, winter, sobriety, addiction, alcoholism


Amy D. Brooks
Amy D. Brooks

Portland, OR

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