constellations

he leans back into the skyline
surrounding the rooftop bar
dean martin sly
mambo king beautiful
holding court beside me
in his leather chair

nursing ancient scotch
smoking romeo y julieta cigars
his eyes follow the curves of my legs up to my eyes saying,
“not yet, baby, not yet…”

to which i reply,
“no, saint augustine will not be seeking salvation tonight…”

he is stunned by my perfect understanding
and realizes we are dangerous together
particularly to his wife

penitent and bleeding
uttering,
“we would have been a love story in another life”

i agree
bending to kiss him silently
before walking down the stairwell
made from another god’s sky