Let’s have lots, dancing around us, kissing our hands.
Let’s dress up and go to parties, tossing our heads,
flirting with Ben and Sam and Alex and Ernesto.
But not Augustus: He won’t play the cavalier.
He strolls, reading poetry to inflame his passion.
When he finally arrives at love, he will make
romantic drama with pledges of eternal faith.
A girl must be ready to play her part with him.
We are not ready! We want to play the cruel
mistresses, the fond and gay but elusive charmers
who come and go, dancing and tossing our heads.
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I do so love your poetry! Your poems always have a sense of energy, a sense of abandon, and this one is no exception. Wonderful!
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