It’s Cosy Inside, At His Place.

Gluck-gluck, topaz liquor, lovingly poured,

Mmm-yum... my warming drink’s a precious sight.

Slip-slide my naked feet across the floor,

Spin, glide... his cool, tiled floor’s my soles’ delight.

Fingers flip through discs, full quiff flops forward,

Hands-free smoking, he bites his long-ashed cig.

A grey fug, mist-like, lingers at his shoulders,

‘Fancy Chet Baker? Man, he’s really big...’

Books strain shelves. Fringed leather flung on the door,

Dionne Warwick’s photo, framed, black and white.

A red light quivers, mattress on the floor -

Lie back. Queasy. Suppose I’ll stay the night?

© S.P.D.