There was a time when boys would rush to light your cigarette.
Now your relatives come brandishing serviettes.
And there is no reclining torsoed demi-god
To feed your coy reluctance sugared wine on Tuscan bread –
You’re calmly feeding your reluctant sons instead.
And sure, there was a time when Sundek’d sailors
Would come to hang from your strings in the summer gales.
Ahh, those burnished torsoed demi-gods –
They all wanted to drown in your treacherous dreams.
But you’re in too deep now for such trinkety things.
And afterwards you’ll sit and reminisce a little
What had gone right and what had gone amiss a little.
But you’ve no need for the lies of demi-gods.
You have the ear of angels instead.
And I am opening the wine and cutting up the Tuscan bread.
– O –
Written on occasion of Francesca’s birthday.