Who is that
knocking at my door
with a painted face?
The sound
reverberates in the brain
skips the heart
but travels all over the body
creating ripples
like those on sand dunes.
The sound of the stiletto heels
the heady aroma of perfume, hiding
the smell of the armpits
the rehearsed words
witty, seductive,
double entendre,
just a door away.
Let me also
cover my wrinkles
and
with a shaved, cologned face
pasted smile
matching wit
and a bag
filled with games
that we must play,
reclaim
what's left,
experiment
with our truths.
