In the haze of cigarettes, the place

was always approaching midnight.
The only bulb golden in its lassitude.
I never told you how ugly that dress
was, but it was magic when it slid
to the floor.  The thin fabric in the
throes of gravity, a sensual descent
across the care of your back,
slowing at the curve of your
delectable ass.  I imagine it as the
sound of flowers opening, the
softness catching in me.

An unlikely richness amid the squalor,

sometimes charity feels nice.

You were my favorite goodbye,

the rain of your hair held back,
your lipstick leaving me a faint
memento in that rotting atmosphere.

.