She trailed petals in her wake.
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Spoken each night by lovers unaware. *
*excerpted from California poet laureate Dana Gioia’s poem, “The Lunatic, The Lover, and The Poet”
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They were positively ripe for Sangria.
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The watchers made enormous clandestine bets.
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There would be no more do-overs.
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She owned DeMille at a glance.
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Nobody said anything. . .oh, wait.
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Suddenly, old school was new again.
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The emperor’s silk pajamas were transparent.
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Original art by Joseph Kinigstein
Nero canoodled and the angels wept.
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