the circle two club

when we arrive, baby,
hand-in-hand,
slowly descending that ruby staircase,
looking like
dangerous versions
of Fred and Ginger,
our table will be waiting,
and the maitre d'hotel
will just smile,
and wave us through:
me in my fedora,
and you in your stilettos,
oozing attitude,
and looking for brain food,
amidst the vipers
and black mambas:

and we will take over the joint.



April 16, 2009.

Copyright © 2009, Ricky A. Pursley. All rights reserved.