Since then ~~ anna hood

Since then
the object of night
is to simply get through.
No spinning
no rearing, no prancing
a wild mustang
hooves sparking
a stone mountain.
These nights not even the gentle cantor
of a golden mare.
Not for me sleep walking
in a sheet of memories.

Two-thirty I wake
with an explosion
of champagne bubbles
on my tongue a cloud
of jasmine perfume in my hair.
It's only a dream
a dream of champagne
flutes on balconies
balconies draped in flowers
drenched with the sound
of horns
the sound of the French Quarter
at midnight.
Dinner at NOLA's.
Do you remember I licked
whipped cream
from your fingers.
We were young then.

Five o'clock the first
whistle of a bird.
You're beside me
your face creased
by the spread.
Lashes thick as a girl's
hide your eyes
hide your lies.
I could almost
love you again
almost
but I move away
quietly wary as the vixen
who comes for my offerings
of kitchen scraps.
Quietly I move away
on the ends
of my scarlet toes,
no longer young but then
who is?

Only her.