Rue St. Florentin
I will grin and close your eyes
the wind sweeping down my back.
On the dim-lit Avenue d'Iéna
save the few whizzing cars
no one but I will recognize
the moving shadow on your neck.
*
Fancies always larger than life
speckless and refined.
Desire, a most unfaithful whim,
is the scavenger in the weakened mind.
I'll keep waltzing with your spectre
you go back to sailing alone.
The real is not the real feat.
Open your eyes, ring the curtain down
deny me the feel of your meat.
November, 2008
