They are like two beam lights that claim the stage
on a hot summer eve in the middle of a makeshift
floor parkette made of wood, varnish, and lights that aim
They are more than two American dollies dressed
in  French lace and boudoir lipsticks
They are idols of the theater talking through
cables and conductive material.  
The imagination of the viewers soar as they lose themselves
in the dark curtained stage, where reality has gone dormant
The only sound they hear is the tingly sounds
of unfolding fans made of feather and paper,
by the old vintage theater Madam who clucks and gossips
in hushed tone when the first dolly gives the other dolly,  
a soft kiss.

The End.