The Peak

By Stone Bryson

A rose in my mind’s eye,

tequila in veins,

a woman in scarlet,

and a vision restrained.

Under a coverlet,

clothes on my skin,

no place to end it,

and nowhere to begin.

At times it feels so hot,

other times it’s a freeze,

it goes and it comes and goes

like a summer breeze.

An unwinnable battle,

the pull of the past,

the love at disparity,

with an angel at hand.

The air of ménage a trios,

the sex of a war,

the feel of a virgin,

and the heart of a whore.

The sin of a hit-man,

the look of the weak,

all I can do is fight like hell

to get over the peak.

Copyright © 2004 Stone Bryson.  All Rights Reserved.

Written August 1989

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