Clouds being blown on
winds of the heartless
proving that moonlight
shines best in darkness.

The warmest affection
cuts through my thinking,
spins me in circles:
drunk without drinking.

French angel singing,
harp music playing,
her here beside me:
what more's worth saying?

I won't presume to
reach out and hold her.
I hope she won't mind my
cheek on her shoulder.

From this perspective
watching her fingers
trace up the wine stem,
a soft touch that lingers.

The evening has ended,
down comes the curtain.
Who knows what she wants.
The future's uncertain.