The nights come sooner now
And like some once-lush Turkish belly dancer
Whose lava-lamp lick-ilicious curves
Surrender to the cellulite of time,
The fattened leaves droop
Where once they danced in the summer sun.
The searing heat is not yet done but
Will come again as if to hiss-insist that
Days and nights in some forbidden
Casbah are still alive and undulating ...
Swaying beneath too much lipstick now
While back-stage, winter dons her brand-new lace.