Beauty loves the ride

in the red convertible, hair
flying, road winding,
skin frying, foot
to the floor, un-
concerned
with camera,
layout design,
Charm, Grace,
you.

Those elusive parallel tracks

where will and ride are one --

but to betray
the bitter chocolate heart
that needs only
a flame and honey and time --

oh, do not.

Hearing all was a dance, they

drank Cuba libres,
rumba'd their way
on a clear night
over a bridge spanning
a clear lake,
vanished at dawn
into a canopy
of bright bird wings
gently beating
time.