came more into focus only after I thought it was finished.
Eidolon
The drama of
that icy curb
where a great new place
redeems the block:
no climax, only a tableau
of hurrying hosts
who insensibly slow
for that girl and the guy –
he thirtyish, square,
but she in fur,
textured thigh-high
stockings, kicky
stiletto boots, pearl studs, *Poème,
with cheekbones to die for, sungold hair;
and as they cross
from limo to door
(the numinous lasts
that long), she smiles,
adept in mating with depressive ghosts.
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