Treacherous Beauty

Your perfume flutters through the air:

Black Orchid and rain.

I would kiss the scent

if you were not seated between

you're vengeful god

and your Stephen Harper book of acceptable behaviour.

Instead, I chase the scent away

with tequila and

the blood on my lips.

I raise my glass to the bartender, and say:

"Now I understand – what 'treacherous beauty' means."