Old Twilight

resting by a garden path, I watched them lean into each other
like sodden loofers in a warm pool

then they rose to walk away and her voluminous dress, (silk)
danced a parachute ballet, caressing his tanned, mottled shins

and not heeding the peeling bell, he took her by the hand 
to watch the balletic display...Coppelia or Giselle?

and he mused... would'nt it be swell to dance like Nureyev,
in $1000 shoes?
Copyright © | Year Posted 2015

Poem

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