Eyes dance randily
They drink their whiskey in search of more,
The mind searching for a reason to stay, finding none.
In her river-jeans and night-shade top,
remains shyly back, admiring
in search of this night’s nurturing,
but find only vacant stares
that match a rhythm
born of beatnik loins.
but try as they might to tilt it out,
the golden ring at the bottom
of each glass can never be gained.
That treasure designed for oblivion.
The guilt of leaving friends
is no longer enough to hol-
There.
The one who burns blue.
A body alive with looks that fasten me in place.
is every reason to stay for hours.
Many approach, thinking themselves to be
her knight in shining armour.
But the one who knows he is,
the sensuality of refusing
the woman who is Guenevere only
in the fleshy part. Waiting;
for the whole.
Written 25 July 1997, 22 January 1998
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