There
In the November night
Just beyond the flickering glare of the marquee
I stand close, watching her,
The shadowy-lined dress a video made flesh,
Throw away her past
For me
The receiver slams on its metal hangpost
She turns to look up
And smiles
And traces the outline of my chin with her delicate hand
She speaks softly
Running her hands beneath my denim jacket
To pull her closer around me
Then drifts away
To become a vivid dream