The stage is set for the night.

The Queen is heavily perfumed and drowsy.

The lights glow gold in the sepia hue 

while I slowly blow smoke so blue 

a little samba…

a little waltz…

the twinkle…

The gamble is obvious but still so subtle….too subtle

so what?

I needn’t raise my voice again.

I’m back to Sunday night 

and it’s just a re-run,

I hear the crackle of love given without expectation

without hesitation

without delusion or possession…

the warmth and the ease of then,

always then.

ahh love;

that, that….

ghost.

while words fail

like rain falls  

outside my window

and I’m still here.

I’m still here.

I’m still here.

until…