wearing that same black dress,
their lips and asses tight,
their bronzed hair set in perfect place,
these women gathered in my dream
to talk their usual talk,
their conversations spiked with the names
of avenues in France.

and when i asked them what the hell,
they shook their marble heads
and walked erect out of my sleep,
back into a town which knows
all there is to know
about the cold outside, where i relaxed
and thought of you,
your burning blood, your dancing tongue.