Bourbon Street Moon
She kissed me in the doorway
of a Bourbon street bar;
she tasted like black licorice
and spiced rum.
The band in the background
played Sweet Georgia Brown
as the streets danced
with summer rain.
I’d met her at a juke joint
where a zydeco band
was throwing down
heart-thumping cheer
behind a heavy accordion.
She smelled like
three day old, pressed roses
and smiled like the world
had already passed her by.
We danced a sawtoothed jig
until our feet were raw
then told stories of
pirated love affairs
over iced sazeracs
in tall glasses
where our dreams swam
in moonlight’s reflection
naked and cold.
I didn’t know her well,
but I knew what she wanted.
There was a full moon
pushing the rain away
and she wanted to howl.
Hurricane drinks and doorway kisses
fueled the moon-glow fire.
We climbed the stairs
that the night had built
ascending toward the promise
of moonlight’s bliss.
We surrendered to kisses
in the ripe hour of need
removing the shadow
of loneliness
until the moon slipped
from view.
DFS
7-1-13
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