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Good Night Sweet Girl
Her pirouettes shoot shivers through
my half beating heart as this caffeine fix fails
and my eyes fall silently shut.
Slipping away to that café in Rome
[where our first meeting found itself staring
at the ceiling of my hotel suite]
I dream that I never got that call;
that I never had to take the three am to Boston;
that our bodies could remain recoiled
in the position of passion for a moment longer.
But, alas, the moment fades,
bright lights awaken dreary eyelids and the dust of sleep is
washed away by the fresh air of the Mass Pike.
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