All The Old Men Are Gone
All the old men with beautiful manners are gone.
They with courtly manners
who brush their lips over your hand
who look up the white pillar of arm
meet eyes with sweet kindness or desire-
The Hungarians, Italians and Russians
who murmur into faces
and translate with twinkling spheres,
a desire found ‘deep in their hearts’
or perhaps like a well-oiled
Casanova, who glides across
the room and anchors your vanity to his side.
They are all gone, dissolved in the waters of time.
You were glad for the flirtation,
it made the stomach flip,
it brightened everything-
Life -Suddenly- Worth- Living!
If even for the evening
or a few hours until dawn
you were young and desirable once more.
With these now-ghosts,
the light came forth from dull shadows
like diamonds thrown onto mirrors
the room was a crystal ball spinning
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