Her Love Like a Pistol

Her love like a pistol;
Her heart like a tense catapult,
That lunges and leaps like a track star,
Enfolding within its blood-working,
An inky finger.
Why I had not seen the pistol prepping,
For the intimate intercourse with my dreams,
Was lost on me like a pebble spinning in the dark ocean.
Darker than all of the skies on primitive earth.
And with its definitive blame,
It struck down upon me in a rain of paper weights.
A long, narrow plug with a ball point made of plums.
To spill and fill each vein with liquid metal,
That only hardens in the harsh winters...
I wait, still and frozen, until her sun soaked touch revives.