Lush Life

Ok, I was listening to Sinatra today and thinking somewhat refined thoughts (for a change). I wanted to see if I could write a few poems that capture my ideas about the good life. You know: charming romance, fine food, interacting with sophisticated people in interesting places. These are the best I was able to come up with. It's not my usual choice of subject, but I thought I would try something completely new.

Your skin smells like jasmine—
or is it honeysuckle?
I could never tell the difference.
Silky skin,
so incredibly smooth—
smooth like vanilla yogurt
and just as inviting.

A dark brewed cup
of Belgian coffee
(bold but never bitter),
a glass half -filled
with Norman Calvados,
shimmering gold
in the Northern moonlight—
a perfect pair
if ever there was one.
A taste of coffee,
then a sip of calvados
(ahhh, what ecstasy!)
Only later did I realize
it should have been
the other way around.
There are rules for
these sorts of things
in civilized nations.

We once held hands,
walking down along the
left embankments of the Seine
as the tourist boats passed lazily by
and Notre Dame cast
its inviting shadow
across our path.
No better time
to be alive
and certainly
no better place.

You look just like Liza Minelli
and your taste borders on the sublime—
all Bennett, Martin, and
just the right kind of jazz
(soothingly familiar but never predictable).
I really thought that I would
fall hard for you,
but then I realized something—
right taste,
wrong face.

I turn on the radio…
Sinatra singing “The Summer Wind.”
Could anything be cooler than that?
Could anything be
quite as melancholy?

Miro opening at the Gagosian.
Everyone exquisitely attired,
lovely beyond description,
and drenched with that
strange sort of
unnatural refinement
that only true art lovers
from Chelsea possess.
There were some paintings
there too,
but no one seemed
to notice them.