Poetry by Imon

  The Game

She walked into the club
knowing she looked
dressed to kill
tight miniskirt
lowcut spandex top
stiletto heels
She perused the room
for a few moments
secretly amused as
many faces turned her way
But these she ignored

She chose her prey
A solitary figure
at the bar
Lightly touched his shoulder
'Is this seat taken,'
she asked 'No, not at all,
help yourself,' he replied
She perched on the stool
crossed her legs
showing a bit too much flesh
'I see you like red wine'
she said, 'As do I' and
ordered herself a glass

They spoke for awhile
exchanging small talk
She spoke in her best
sultry voice, laughed
at just the right moments
She gave him a teasing grin
walked playful fingers
up his arm and said 'My,
you must work out a lot'
thinking, 'the bigger they
are, the harder they fall'
He smiled

She turned and leaned
toward him, showing her cleavage
to its best advantage
She let her hand rest
familiarly on his thigh
and closed the trap
'Why don't we go to my place'
she said, voice low and suggestive
A long gaze, a slow smile
and he nodded
As they left, she smiled
to herself, pleased
with her art of seduction

There is one lesson
the lady will yet learn
before the night is over
and the game complete
Never to tease
a hungry vampire
  Another Game

Have you ever
played mindfuck?
You should
try it sometime
It's an
intriguing game
Better than
Russian roulette
for two
No sudden end
Or, perhaps
there is
Who knows?
More ups and downs
twists and turns
than a rollercoaster
Kind of thrilling
like bungee-jumping
except the plunge is
into an abyss
and the safety cord
is optional
More intimate than
a long night of sex
And sometimes
it even

The Penultimate Possibility

Standing before a mirror
in a dream,
pleasant as one which
inevitably turns into a nightmare
And insulated
by a feeling of supposed happiness...
Then suddenly, a tiny crack appears,
and nonchalantly spreads -
Don't look now
but reality is showing through
the image lies shattered,
the pieces now reflecting
a pallid apparition
the after-image of a misconception
Painful slivers pierce flesh
that tries to find stability
in a fading mirage once more
Frantic hands try to sweep
the broken dream under a rug
And then panicing feet
turn and flee
Leaving the irreparable mess
for someone else to clean up...