Dancing at the ball of our lives

 

(for Alison on her birthday)

 

I wear my new gold dress:

the soft cling dress that doesn’t fit.

You’re in a suit of mouse-coloured suede:

tactile, sleazy, brave.

 

At the masked ball of our lives

I ‘m sequinned with purple feathers.

You’re  Napoleon’s death-mask,

chalk-white, without the sequins.

  

My tortoiseshell high-heels pinch, my love.

My Chanel Allure‘s fading.

But I sense your Docs will stomp some more.

Your pheromomes are truly bracing!

 

Oh yes they are!

 

Dancing at the ball…

Music? What music? I didn’t hear any music!