Of Ashtrays and Honesty

You stepped straight from a half-shell and remotely were, you, the pearl of my eye. When magazine snapshots and Hepburn dresses fell to ashes around you, I cupped my hands and blushed. We made eighteen an intangible, hopping down from windows to our tepid rendezvous. In a Monetian sea of ashtrays and honesty we didn’t dare speak If we were there now you would be smiling and smiling and smiling at the better words unsaid.