‘Round midnight we –
my sax and I –
come sit on the window-sill
in my hopelessly bachelor’s kitchen
to watch you come out
on your fire-red, sky-high-heels.
Thirty to midnight.
Reading your steps’ rhythm, we –
my sax and I –
play each other, street lights in Neva River,
and, in the White Nights, your fire-red, sky-high-hair.
Two AM
We –
my sax and I –
play our fire-red, sky-high love to you.
We play to each other
‘cause no one else is likely to listen.
Two-thirty.
You are not back in my window.
I say,
how long that ‘Round midnight could be?..
21.07-06.08, 2011