Bella

Men who want women, eat calf’s liver and greens, something clings to them, as the coming night groans, a wind hushed soul freezes, it chills to their bones, worried they appear timid, by the city's muffled seethe, their desires know no limit, hope these ladies might glow, make love every evening, white hotels like a road show, breath bitter as almonds, leaves what love has gleaned, salted as caramel, between golden tones, they see what Goya’s seen, richer, older, needing pillows, wine, bread, falling leaves.