Demimonde

Pale skin under the shock

            of silver moonlight

            halts my wandering eye.

In night's day, its breath

            blows chill off the sea

            while other souls sleep.

She smokes by the window,

            moon-gilt. Sable hair

            falls over bare skin—

clouds cast shade on snow white sand.

            I rise, extending arms,

            touch the smoothness there

at her waist, and feel the soft

            panties cling to curves

            like skin. She shivers.

The arch of her back accents

            soft, boyish breasts which

            steadily rise and fall

and catch the ghostly rays

            pouring from heaven

            on her and the town.

Wind on rooftops and treetops

            laughs coyly at our

            tryst and dishabille,

and none hear but us two, wrapped

            in wane wisps from her

            cigarette ember

that glows all red as it fades.

            Then we fall away,

            back through smoke tendrils,

bare, innocent as First man.

            Here, in this half-world,

            I inhale her all.