Down at the blind end of the breezeway Lust
incarnate in a vase of peonies
perpetrates the cha cha on a gust.
It sings your love has brought it to its knees.
Like you it wants to marry everything
and never ever would divorce its kind.
It croons its heart is tethered on a string
of gold lamé to yours, and you’re entwined
in it -- warbles and throbs that your affection
is a sanctifying dream of ocean light.
Forthwith the sea breeze loses its direction
as it did a time or two throughout the night
and Lust stands still -- and I’m inclined to go
upstairs, and wake you up, and let you know.