SOHO ~ Cinematic

SOHO Burlesque where I went that day, Through the smoke and pink, Red and black lingerie, It's left and ran away, To the dance floor, To dance all day. I write the ending on each page, Write in hopeless decay. She arrived and went away. It's unlike everything on display, Staring at the flower of the faded stained and hopeless hour. Redress the red dress, Garters stretched across soft skin, A potent pink flesh, A single sweet intoxicating voice trembles in the seductive silence, Like a hummingbird's tweet in a volcanoe's chaos, Bizarre disturbance like a flaming cross, Into the wretched gardens where we lost. Umbrella's shade hides the despair, Hides the raincoat of violence. Secret rooms where they exist, Find you in the parlor of the rubrics cube boudoir, Pipes and libraries, Serpents and time burning. Spurned to the last this club's hurting my eyes. Dusted the cupboards well enough surely. Desire, lined up by a house of lies. It seems so sweet, Though tinged with the devil's hashish. I will pull you under, Where the merchants peddle their feet, Above the devil's conceit. Stuck in the halls, The blank pages, Rusted frames on the walls, My own note could be the mark of the sages. Enough of the pigs trough through the pages. I know what I've done, Capital down the sink, Capital on the run, Circles on the pages, Ashes in my drink, Cigarettes in the sink, Painters friends and myrtle, Worried so they think. I climbed the walls of the museum, And visit the visions, Pure splash of paint, Pure chains of fate, Paint the relish of subconscious tastes. Odalisque why was there dark patches? Wondering alone with a notepad and pen, Carrying these lonesome bags. Where is happiness in the bricks and stains? I'm never scared, Never hoping, Doesn't care, Silence is broken, As I walk down Mayfair. Paintings stacked from the floor. Much of the time; I'm at their door knocking for hours, Lost in limbo. Cello struck a chord, It's bow damp in the twilight, It's player dripping from rain, Suits soaked and puddles in the floor boards. Have I become such an arbiter of degradation, Sectioned off by the yellow lines at the train station, Never met her shadows in the park, Because it was too dark already, Madeline maiden, of the darkest arts, Stumbled at the start. Burnt perfume thick with lavender oil, The pastiche black, colors of a geisha's umbrella, I loved her, in my own sick way, I wanted her, still perhaps to this day, It's easy to take shots at a man in love, for we love in secret, The mirrors always in front of our eyes, Guilty by suspicion and always suspect in disguise, But still I smile. Maybe it'll be good enough this time, I feel like I've done my best. I left my stool at the burlesque. An aging ticket fell from my pocket, We can put it all to rest, Holy and entropic, Close to my chest.