Mauvais Sang

our title character dances
across New York streets
to David Bowie's "Modern love"

specializing in confection, 
she is a borrowed muse, indeed,
softening in the sea of my dreams.

like her, I have love-groped
my way through each waltz,
but we both will no longer. 

maybe she is me and I am her,
time aside, existence non-existent,
it is all shattered glass in throats. 

still the night is young,
the night is our life,
a swoon-inducing portrait.

young love used to be the cure,
but it isn't anymore,
so maybe old love is.