Temptation in the street called Moulin Rouge

Being a poet is one of the unhealthier jobs--no regular hours, so many temptations!

- Elizabeth Bishop

A few small talk, a lot of eye batting and some clandestine sips into the caffeine filled mug of mine- perhaps a mixture of Keats, Eliot, Coleridge, Arnold and Yeats, made me to write about my imaginary Temptation Street.

Temptation in the street called Moulin Rouge

She sat

Propped up on a shabby wall,

Lips painted red,

Eyes burning like amber,

Her hat, tilted at one end,

She turns daintily.

If you can her name,

Heels knocking against each other, when her legs swing,

Full of induced         

Evening mirth,

A little temptation

To live through the hours,

A slight sip from the passed on

Wine glass,

Smoky eyes, and dreamy gestures,

A woman living

Breathing and sighing

Through darkest of fantasies.

All it takes is just a nudge,

All it takes is a pinch called reality…

Too bring you out

Of the labyrinth called Dream Land.

Your nightly tales need to end…

Monsieur,

For day light burns you

Down to exposed skeletons.

This poem participates in "Promising Poets Parking Lot: Thursday challenge!"

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