Avenue Garden Hotel, Mardi Gras

Her burning kiss remains on his lips
Like the suggestion of some exotic spice,
Her touch still lingers, a tingle on his skin,
The erotic memory
Stirring him to public adjustment.

Her figure walks ahead of him unexpectedly
Only to turn, under his earnest hand,
To embarrassment, a stranger and
He hears her taunting laughter.

No way to retrace the traces
Or call to hear her voice, no way
To reclaim the anonymous uncanny night.
She will remain an enigma unless
The stranger turns
And it’s her.