Never Brought To Mind

Young men of a certain age
are putty in my hands.
My look or glance or fluttering finger
wave leaves them stuttering
nonsense off their tongues,
when all those young Lotharios
likely want, is to flutter a tongue
over my senses.

Then, just next door to midnight,
the streamers flew and confetti
caught my curls.
By the time the horns blew
and champagne flowed
most of the putty boys
had slowly melted away
and I was left
with merely three to kiss me.

The wistful notes of Auld Lang Syne
went dancing out to friends
just newly gone from the living ether.
I sang it for those who passed
and who I'll long remember.
Should auld acquaintance be forgot?
In my heart, they live forever.

After the glitter of a gala night
what's left but to sweep it away?
The foil that shone so bright,
the coloured cellophane -- a filter
on a too-white light; all so much
dross in the hung-over fog
of a new year's dawn.