At Pellegrini's the old waiter's eyes
shine bright at the sight of your baby blues
and people with coffees and football talk
swirl slowly around, dancing like extras -
we exit to a lane, and falling rain
The ghosts of past victories and defeats
accompany us through the galleries
and we move apart, ever conscious of
our proximity to, and wary of
the tragic empress, the vain dictator
Over aged red wine and fillet le boeuf
rationalities are voiced and agreed
yet still an enveloping mist descends
a fugitive truth seeks sanctuary
in the hazy half light of reticence
I leave your bed before dawn touches us
I have been so lost and now fear the fall
Napoleon at the field of triumph
rears his white stallion and turns his head
noticing I hang by gossamer thread
