In Wake of a Saturday Evening

From the window, a Paris breeze unkempt,

as she lingers within the naked hour

keeping the famished streets waiting.

Her gentleman is fatigue.

Her pocketbook is the moon.

She comes perishing the day with

the dark heels of night.

The sky orange with a black finish.

Her own delicate black dress

sweeps across cryptic avenues

swallowing whole, sidewalks.

Reviews

[Leslie Philibert]

This is a tremendous poem, full of subtle, clever imagery, evocative yet open for lyrical exploration.
Really great, well done !

[Jamestown]

Wonderful write, great imagery and nice flow,thanks for sharing and b-blessed!