Out on the roof

Late one night a wolf whistle blew under a ladies door.
It breezed up the the hall and the stairs,
lifting a little fine dust from her rugs.
It blew under her skirt and between her teeth.
She trembled with delight at this rush from beneath
and then a little with terror
at her imaginations glimpse of a strange but wonderful sight.
All was golden and moonlit
and she was pulled with little effort
to the window, to embrace this night.
The gulls were restless and the pigeons purred
and they all shivered together
in the spine tickling stir.
A silky tale slid past her goose bumped legs.
Her ducts of tears and of joy mingled as she cried.
A pair of rich glowing green eyes led her back inside
to the dancing flames.
Soft and warm she lay dazzled until morning.
Still and content
until the fire died.