Tongue in cheek divine
Lost soul of mine
A snap of orchestral fingers to summon the suave illustrator
Mohawk punks and minions to smash the limp masturbator
Arpeggio flutter ripples
Convalesce, Fancy dress
Breasts with perky nipples
One or two drinks, make it three then five
Keeping the blood warm and love alive
Dark raven hair
I couldn’t even care.
I adored her all, her everything, her gleaming demeanor
The subtle wink of her eyes, the glow; even greener
Exotica, ex machina
Street amazon of desert glass sand
No drama, rural karma
Flesh sweating like the heat of Sudan
Dead singers like Cole and Morrison sing of paper moons and Crystal Ships
The mixed CD segues to U2, Pulp, and then The Flaming Lips.
“Nightingale”, minor scale
The saxophonist played under the street lamp outside
“Another drink?” she abides, two glasses and wine supplied
On her balcony we watched and listened, to the call of urban passion
The wordless music we adored, a testament to our mutual attraction.