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!