New Short Piece - Enjoy

Where the angels fly

Is that the girl to rock my world or is it the queen that was long to be seen? I mean.., her appearance is far from obscene, her beauty is stunning, her eyes are blue-green, her thighs so inviting to lay in between, her tangerine lips and unforeseen smile made a crocodile escape from Nile.

He jumped on a plane, then a train - for a while. Mile after mile, he travelled with style, in a manner so vile it made one passenger dial the police and report, as he put it, a bile: “There’s a lizard that’s being hostile!” “It’s a crocodile and he’s worthwhile!” – said the Croc. “I didn’t mean to revile, but you constantly rile!” – and that was a crime.

With the cops on the way he fell in denial. He didn’t have a clean file and if sent to a trial, God knows… Yet, he couldn’t see through the pile of desire that blinded him. And though tough as a spile, this woman’s call was too strong and a lie is to say he didn’t kick the brains out of the passenger. Try to picture the first slap in the face. And try to imagine the cell - flying out the train window and over the fence - into the yard, bordering on the tracks.

The rest I shall spare, for to risk the romance, there’s no chance, I won’t dare.  Long story short, the Croc crushed the train into powder to cover his trails and ran away.  He did not wander, though, he searched the way to where this milk-skin princess laid and he would not rest for a day until she did submit to say... ‘Yes’ to him in Nile.

He ran the world twice, then to the moon. He ran around the block and boom shalock lock boom, shalock, he almost got a heart attack. That was the Lord he saw - who else? All dressed in white, God spoke with grace: “What you are looking for is an angel.” – And blended into the air.

   

A crucial hint for mister Croc, who realized, around the block, his run was over, for he then knew the whereabouts of what’s pursued. An angel, yes, of course she was, you wouldn’t meet her on a bus, nor on the moon, nor ‘round the world, for angels, should be no surprise, are known to live in paradise.

The day looked bright, blue was the sky. The sun was high and so was I.  Above the clouds, where thunders sigh and every day is in July, she showered in a rain of light and hung her clothes drip dry. Her hair was red, her cry was shy, her lips were wet, they said good bye. She squatted under the bonsai, providing shadow nearby. Grieving over being lied, her tears did smell like pumpkin pie. A view, I wouldn’t help but spy, the reptile king did not pass by.

He sank into the grass and neared silently - his tongue checking on his teeth. The Crock stretched his jaws open and rose to his feet. And there, in the heat of the moment sublime, I busted his eye, ‘cause she’s mine, all mine.