drowsy eyed glances in the evening
lead to martini olive smiles
dry gin fizzes sparkle and fire away
sweet elegant mistresses ply the wounded crowd
seeking vulnerable openings
introductions are made by closely guarded tongues
lips touch ears and smiles erupt
games go flirting all about the crystal hung maze
the ghost of old fitzgerald roaming these halls
playing piano under the flush
while young starlet flappers drag and scoot
old car horns signal the arrival
more mad hatters have come
clever young school girls sneak a peek
at models and men
couples clutch bottles
to take the night air
looking for a lonely spot
out beyond the garden topiary
if the animals were alive
surely they would bite
for they too are ghosts
born in classic times
they cast ominous stares
that burn emerald bright
remembering places in time
oh how wild they seemed
but we haven’t changed so much
not a yard, not a mile
and when i look back
on the romancing of days
i look for the sparkle of diamonds
and the queen’s weary gaze
it haunts me in silence
like a memory not found
alone in the darkness
in the shadow of sin
surrounded by phantoms
that prod from within
so i drop down the needle
on the old phonograph
and make like a mustached gentleman
still dancing
in the afterlife…

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 2/10/12


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