While You Slept Alone
by Brenda Stivale

The rain in a grey fedora
tap danced in the street last night;
feather footed dodging headlights
breathing softly smiling subtly
Fred Astaire, he caught my eye.
I saw him pause at the gatehouse
in the darkness, heard his damp
exhaled breath as he considered
jumped the gate, entering
the waiting garden, yes, your own.
He pressed the lips of peonies
the ones you call your prizes
He brushed the purple iris
with a silken mist
while roses prim and proper reached out
in swollen passion long forgotten.
The moon provied lighting
for the long awaited tryst
the silence was intrepid
the encounters were elicit
all was done in secret
yet all were in agreement.
The rain came in last night, my love,
while you slept alone.

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