You smelt of cheap red wine
as my tongue flicked over your lips.
Gauloises tainted your finger tips
as you tipped my chin.
Shadows of past lovers disappeared,
scuttling through crevasses
into an iron grey nothingness.
I tiptoe in silver shoes,
a trail of wanton organza sweeps behind me
wayward and sultry in conflict.
Lashes close on emerald eyes
against strangers with wrong impressions.
The dilated iris are only for you.
I flash you a look and you agree in principle.