He reeks of orthodox tobacco incense, cigars and golden grain—

His eyes steel, Everclear and

iron,

a shade of withering grass—

The man’s brim curves well his swine nose

And leans to the steel cut boots he wears like prayers, scuffed

By cattle hooves and shards of copper

Honey says he’s fine,

Like fine, mulberry wine—

I say he’s mash, charred over-well in a calling carhood;

And then they out the swine’s eyes and wave him as the fine brandy of men—

A southern gentleman;

That devil Angel Eyes—

————

She keeps herself in the pockets of her Tyrian cardigan—

They say to bosom a crooked hand—

I see her when she feeds the mallards,

When she couples the deer

creeping upon the white sands

For love and a hand—

Her eyes coal, witless as stone,

peer unmoving as I come;

Veiled by split hair, failing braids

and a daisy;

Her skin that of a plucked swan—

I call and she rips a revolver

Empty of all chambers—

Odd duck, this Lavanoa—

——-

(I saw Gone with the Wind and was inspired to write about a good old southern gentleman; about a couple like Rhett and Scarlet.

I wrote briefly about some guy named Angel Eyes, just because. Then I met someone named Lavanoa. And, you know, she had just one of those names that had to be used in a southern gothic setting. Some people just have names like that. I just had to use it.)