St. Charles and Robert

She defies any definition
of beauty
one hundred plus years old
this gorgeous redhead
stands tall
every hour
every day
every year
in this same place
reclining against the green earth
every voluptuous angle and curve
of her form draws my eyes to admire
the way her creamy skin shimmers
in the midday sun
here, in this sweet southern spring
before the heat and the evening rains
leave her fresh from the shower
her hair twisted up
in a towel of steam
upon her head
while she sips sazerac
and thumbs through the pages
of a beauty magazine
as a victrola plays in the background
her sultry voice of oak and cypress
humming a bluesy melody
backed up by the rumble of streetcars
and the calling of blue jays
even now…
her dark shutters are closed
but I know
the coy smirk on her tawny lips
means she understands
she has my attention
the arch of her porch
displays the lower parts of her form
sheathed in sheer
white and pink lace
of azaleas
I was lucky enough to touch her once
there was a piece of her that was broken
but I
lovingly mended her
as though she were my own
she offered her hand in thanks
and my lips almost touched the back
before she was whisked away from me
in a flurry of servants and attendants
she probably doesn’t remember me
but I haven’t been able to forget about her
and as I look upon her now
there is a great swelling of pity
in my heart
that I may not step back in time
to the days of her youth
and see her under the moonlight
with glittering crystal and stained glass
bubbling laughter
as the bright light within her heart
shown out upon her lawn
where two lovers may sit
and marvel at the stars
under the New Orleans sky
at the corner
of St. Charles and Robert

About Eric

Writer/Plumber/Poet/Father/Gentleman/Romantic
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