Her eyes are heavy from alcohol and drugs.
She looks over her shoulder and smiles at me,
knows I’ll be gone, both of us cold again soon.
The lace covering her body is a perk.
New Orleans ladies have outdone it again,
Climbing me, moaning. Shaking from cold, pleasure.
More time in December, February, March.
Holding her hand, not afraid to let it go.
It’s all the same to me. Accompanied… not.