billie didn't have
an invitation, so
he tagged onto the tails
of the upper broadway couple
just in front of him.
as if he was part
of their ever present
entourage. he wore
a rented tux and
a red carpet smile,
snagged a flute of dom
from a server gliding by
who flicked a knowing
glance at him
with a practiced eye.
he feigned a cool casualness
as he slipped between
the chatting guests
to stand beneath
the branches of the
potted ficus that flanked
the sweeping staircase.
from which, she,
would soon descend.
he licked his teeth
and sipped his champagne
savoring the moment when
she would see him
as he stepped out from
the shelter of the tree.
every eye would be trained
upon her entrance.
would she disguise
her recognition, deny
the fervid hours they spent
in the back rooms
of the museum reenacting
certain carefully selected
scenes painted by lautrec?
she arrives, in her diaphanous
gown, a glass insect gazing
down at the empty suits
waiting to devour her
like parisian chocolates with
their hungry stares.
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