Two hundred and one flowers
fill the room,
incensed flames flicker.
An aching stillness hangs.
She longs to be elsewhere.

Warm breath creeps,
Intoxicated
like the first time she danced
with her lover-
her soul ignites,
she pirouettes,
across the scuffed wooden floor.

Sweat on brow,
feverish perfumed passion,
fingers trace as if
unsighted and unsure.

Storm-tossed,
she is peeled;
a promise to the night,
she arrives.
The Flower Duet ends.

Love fades…

But memories linger
like watchful ghosts.