A little challenge with poem. Is it a true story or merely made up?
Keep writin' and recitin'
Mark x
Vanessa
She is the girl
my mother warned me about.
Her kisses whisper songs stolen
from other lovers’ lips.
She walks with a sway
of relaxed assurance and
dangerous grace,
an assassin in dancer’s shoes.
She never left town
or settled down
and calls the hotel bar
her second home.
She didn’t recognise me,
the years casting camouflage
and the South has softened
once sharp vowels.
I’m amused she stops at my table,
the boy she never knew existed
back in the day. Later I will ask myself:
compliment or a lowering of standards?
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