poem from muse candy

*
i'm a scolding smith and wesson,
loaded with slick ammunition,
cozy with three fifty seven
rosy burns from poesy heaven.

i'm a magnum burst of verses,
in your covert purse of purses,
smoking from its cursed uses,
and worse lunatic abuses.

in your hand a fiery lesson,
in your hip a burning weapon,
to conceal until your questioned;
terse protection from love hearses.

holstered gun for just in case
the legal way you cannot face;
all the insincere confessions
of the manicured professions.

i'm a pistol whipped obsession,
who's possessed by your possession,
with a magazine of metal,
bloody steel inspired petals.

and its hot from rehearsed shots,
but to your lip its curse is not
directed at your vital spots,
unless you want a sexy prop.

its business is your trigger finger,
and its lead a drop dead ringer,
to protect you from what hurts you,
and to enter whom you choose to.