Sarah

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Sarah


A summer night in Central Park.
A sea of shimmering dress.
“Metropolitan” is in the night’s name.
It’s a good cause, I guess.

We meet as we stand in the interminable line.
For a single drink, no less.
We talk. We laugh. We find a spark
In the rampant silliness.

          Sarah . . .
          Sarah . . .
          Sarah!

We find a seat on a bricky ledge.
Knees touch in tenderness.
I ask if you’d like to get out of here.
You immediately say yes.

In the rickshaw breeze we roll toward Fifth.
My tuxedo frames your dress.
You chill. Now my shirt frames the tux
Beckoning lips. Newness.

          Sarah . . .
          Sarah . . .
          Sarah!

Bobby’s song has seeped into
The Carlyle’s piano and crest
Like perfume across the years
From the decolletage’ of the beautiful guests.

The best nights end when it’s not night at all.
There’s more I dare not confess.
This dream night will live ‘til life completes
And yields to my heart’s last caress.

          Sarah . . .
          Sarah . . .
          Sarah!