Deadbeat Nick’s Poet Society

The art of flirtation is dead -
Although she need no introduction
She is well founded in the gravel
of a late night red wire voices

I find her bereft of all antiquity
In sexts of the witching hour
It is impossible to distinguish her
From the cries of pained angst

And yet –

And yet…

I know her look, her evil eye
Her soft brazen stare - there

The prickling pining pin needle pupli
There’s no mistaking that glance

Like a couplet before a kiss
by any other name would –
Well, you know the rest