Hope springs up on stage
in tight white satin short-shorts –
high-heeled sapling legs.

Lips red as apples,
she dances a paradise,
twirling her boa.

Her red-rouged cheekbones,
the Mata Hari earrings,
moss-green eyeshadow!

Gold chains on throat, hops,
hand-birds flick out of bracelets,
darting through blue smoke.

Palms of her hands meet
over her head: tan body
becomes a gold vase.

The back of her knees,
smoother than sculpted marble,
softer than Asian silk.

Her breasts, quivering
to drumbeats, ripen & sway,
ribs like fanned seashells.

Between her pure thighs,
‘an orchid in ecstasy,’
a bower of bliss.

Double-dimpled moons
shimmy: she laughs & touches
her garter of bills.

Hope, like La Goulue.
Feathers in confetti light,
time twinned by mirrors