Charlotte

You stroll off the meter, but you don't see me, dressed for the theatre, apply polish to fingers, at the Salon du Te,', ignore a flic whisper, discuss places to meet, sip Darjeeling, turn high on your heels, guaranteed to linger, your blonde hair conceals, an invisible surrender, all of those parties, you give by the sea, hides desperate catharsis, do waves rise in rhythm, at your command and greet, your once coveted rayon, down our street.