Kitchen Table, Sept. 2, 1999 8 am

 You hear them, it's the middle of the night
The gods of pleasure, drunken and divine
Exquisite music, harmonies so tight
No time between the voices and the wine

Suddenly the night has grown colder
The god/ghost of love preparing to depart
Alexandra lifted on his shoulder
Invisible, but naked to the heart

Now attended by the ghosts of pleasure

All drunk with longing, formlessly entwine
The dance
Her radiance beyond your wildest measure
She slips between the voices and the wine