Tuileries   Twilight, Tuileries, trembles, tulips, then tomfoolery. Cafe au lait, collar new beneath her trenchcoat, navy blue. Her yin, the silver links his yang, the gold. She flew to him nineteen years old. His growl “good evening,” telephone — a voice with fangs, a face unknown. She’s hotel howls with bit, licked lips, stilettos, nude — his choice; she’s wrapped in whips. She’s strung and strummed, starlet du jour. In bows and stings, this lust matures. First love a chain that buckles, chokes. Ardent affirmations rosé, azure procure. No ring such decadent desire denotes — their bond, Louis … Continue reading “Pine” and “Tuileries” by Kristin Garth