Second Thought
It was the smile that drew her in,
that fiery charm and easy grace,
that Caravaggio’s Cupid’s grin,
that Praxiteles’ Hermes’ face.
His flat, he said, was well within
the river’s view, a pleasant place.
But was it worth waking up in?
And she grew quieter a trace.
So as she stirs her deep vermouth
she meditates on darker themes:
the foolish bargains made in youth,
the cow exchanged for magic beans.
What talisman would she find in hand,
should she wake up a one-night-stand?
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