She walks in my dreams, a song of olde English on her lips
She sings Portmore and Tennyson, Shakespeare and Soul
Somewhere a harp slides out its steel stringed tune
As the fall of her gone moves like silken water across
The shapely curve of her hips
Take from me this moment, take from me any mention
Of this forgotten love, take from my mouth the
Power of the pen and cast them out into the desperate
darkness
The promise of beauty, the pleasure of this night
As I walk the streets of New York City clad only
In my poems shimmering like urban mirages in June
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