Stone hearted, cold blooded,
calculative mind, creative heart.

A blank scroll on my lap
and a pen ready to start.

In a bar at night—hooded eyes
drunk on thrill—awaiting a muse.

Alert eyes, preying on the weak but
I am someone no one would refuse.

So here I go to the prettiest one in row—
begging, pleading—for I need a love tonight.

And every night thereafter, for a fortnight
secretly dancing in the mellow moonlight.

And then for evermore;
to kill and ruefully burrow.

~02/12/24 EH ©

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Word count - 87
Lines - 7

The painting attached is the last of The Weeping women (a series of oil on canvas paintings by Pablo Picasso depicting Dora Maar, his mistress and muse. )

What's your thoughts on Picasso?
Both as a painter and as a person.

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☆Add the book to your library if you liked the poem☆