AFTERMATH

I remember that night 
at that Miami motel 
where we skipped 
upon the rose petals 
you put on the bed 
like Ginger Rogers 
and Fred Astaire facing
the music and dancing.

Black and white clarity
in a world bloated
by rainbows coddled
in an incontinence
of confections force 
fed by advertising men 
focused on finagling 
feelings till we buy big.

That night with the smell
of a citrus moon slipping 
past the drawn curtains .
The sweet synchronicity 
between your eyes and lips
dazzling the dust out 
of the shopworn grey
matter staling in my skull .

Though far from strangers 
the first buss snuck in like 
shy teenagers spinning 
the bottle at a party.
A giggle as I blew a gentle 
puff of air in your ear before 
the loveliest of smiles crinkled
the corner of downy cheeks.

Brushing back the waves 
of coffee colored hair 
so I could drop deeper into 
the tawny cradle of your eyes 
as hugs and kisses grew 
sloppier and words trailed
off into murmurs and hums
igniting the heart of the room.

Pulling down the periwinkle 
blue straps of your negligée
leaving your shoulders bare
like soft mounds of snow.
Vanilla cream on my tongue .
I turn on the radio to decorate 
the darkness and luck upon Van
Morrison singing "Moondance."

Your naked body atop mine
with the bravado of a trapeze 
artist like an angel swinging 
from star to star but in time 
temptations greased my palms 
and your fingers slid from 
mine and the shit I am let you 
fall to breakage undeserved .

All I own from memories
of that enchanted summer's 
eve at the circus of dreams 
are galling guilt and a troupe 
of fleas barely bouncing on 
frayed sheets after washing 
down brittle of regret with liters
of Pabst blue plasma and gin.