permutations
transformed from a party-girl into a classier geisha

pulsing bassists' rhythm cocoons,
a warm lover's-envelope of reassurance,
your solitary figure;
gyrating sensuality murmurs feather-soft
across my helpless sight.
let me touch you, sweet,
let me (for but a moment) pretend
you’re dancing because you know i’m watching.

his fingers are coolly possessive
against the bare of my wrist,
and i know she mimics the action
against the back of your neck,
but in a soulbeat, i would give all his caresses
for a single déjà vu with you.

he knows how to please a girl, that's certain;
(you never got me lilies, drove me 'round
in your expensive limousine,
dressed me in diamonds and jacquard)
more than a few times we've cut paths of envy
‘cross thickly-woven gowns & tuxes.

you wouldn't recognize me anymore, he says,
because he's transformed me
from your desperate party-girl
into a classier geisha (not a whore—never),
entertaining the high society
in wines and waltzes and woven silks.

i've paced my life to fit
within these perfectly-timed entendres;
tell me, love: who will be there
when i miss that final measure?