Memories

Private Dancer by Jack Vettriano

The dance of; dusk. her high heeled sunset of

tall stems. Iced vodka and lime. the linoleum

and leatherette. wishing She were his to steer

through sheets of Sunday rain. The hug of

sheer pelt and and the inhale of smokey blue bedroom-eyes;

jouissance of their oriental rooms

and into a rendezvous with a poem, or two . . .