Whispered Spirit

From the cold clicks
of hardwired luck
and the roulette spin
of decadence and flesh
comes the spark
of heart and smile.

The lonely nights
of tease and dance.
The empty faces of
cameras and type.
The vacancy of
motivations exposed
and the strength
of bright eyes and
punched clocks.

Blinded by fleeting
passions and
and luxurious mime,
so many came and
went with little
in their wake but
vulgar gropings
masked as flirt.
Deceiving themselves
to believe in
seduction.

So how is it
that in this space
of body and time
and coin and care
could survive
the purity of joy. The coy
nods of truth
peaking only in
flashes between acts,
but sustaining
the few who
connect to
the beautiful
whisper of your
spirit

And in the script of
of wit and skin
I would stumble
upon the vision
of sweet allure
and divine
beauty.
Never would I
have guessed,
on that prurient stage
would be found
a wonderful friend,
a fabulous treasure,
who would drag out
smiles from the depths
of my own bleak days.
And turn a litany
of melancholy
into flowing rivers
of laughter
and smiles
and delight.

And when the lights
go down and
the face and posture
are put away
what remains
is even more
breathtaking.
Once the
libidinous facade
comes wiped clean
your exquisite truth
stands more glorious,
more enchanting
with your day to day
now standing
as your most essential
and most radiant
self.