for a distant friend
Even the sliver is gone, leaving
Itself and a trail of night sky behind.
It has been a week of dancing,
Shoes kicked off, ties loosened,
Coats hung over chair-backs, dresses
Clinging to overheated bodies,
Dancers circling, coming together,
Parting, twirls and dips and dirty dancing,
Waltzes and tangos, Boney Maroney
And "play that funky music white boy,"
All week they danced, until, last night
They dropped; no, the moon dropped,
Once full, now, not even a shadow,
While Venus dances on and on.
Poetry by one trick pony
Read 550 times
Written on 2015-12-10 at 05:39
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