Clover Thomas R.I.P.

The first time I met her

She looked me in the eye.

And told me, “I’m just looking

For the perfect place to die.”

The scar on her chin

And teardrop tattoo

She only drank the best

But any man would do.

Mumbled in her sleep

Some guy’s name she repeated.

Said he was no one

But the first prick who cheated.

Never wore high heels

Always had a smoke

Kissed like a virgin

And never got the joke.

I knew she had a past

One she never would reveal.

Always the fruit

You can pick but never peel.

A lover I still need

A friend I won’t forget

Lived life on her terms

And never with regret.

Some say she was forty.

Some say she had a child

Many tried to tame her

I loved Clover Thomas wild.

A poem or eulogy from a novel I’m working on about a mysterious woman named Clover Thomas and the men who loved her.