I write this poetry to ease my pain...
This feeling that grows and strains
That these women I yearn for
That I care for
Are all the same
Different names no doubt
With different tales I shall hold out
But at the very center of their beings
They might as well be siblings
Pretty they are, french lips, exotic eyes
Exotic smiles! Fallen Angels from the skies
In disguise, so still 'fallen', otherwise
My poem would not be so named
Nor my pain so woefully gained
Nor my mind so drenched in taint
Of the darkest hues, of the blackest paint
Guard your hearts closely, my brothers
Close but prithee not too close
For there are women who will care for the stain in your clothes
Women who yearn to be the star of your prose
These are what to look for
But I continuously shirk that quest
In pursuit of what I look for
Retaking life's test