Remo: "Drink, Drink, Drink" by Sharon Esther Lampert

At Quattro Gatti, she is the poet-in-residence:
In Barcelona, Piccasso started here, painting
A humble sketch of a picket-white fence.

Remo: His speciality: a watermelon martini.
Filling her glass to the very brim,
He closes the doors, and the lights dim.

"Drink, drink, drink," He commands:

A dark Italian stallion, no doubt,
He pulls her bar stool closer to him,
Experienced in lust, he knows the route.

"Drink, drink, drink," He commands:

Before his eyes, he sees only a red flower,
And takes a whiff, along her long stemmed neck,
He breathes her scent in, and is ready to devour...

"Drink, drink, drink," He commands:

He longs for, and savors, a passionate kiss.
Skin soft like petals, and breasts ripe and firm
As rosebuds in bloom: it is after-working hours,
And he only has time to uproot the table flowers.

However, rumors abound: the waiters resound.
For an extra tip, they will spin a tale of love, quite profound:

Most say that he made love to her on top of his bar.
They say: She knocked over a glass, and still bears a scar.
Many agree that they made the bar their bed,
Leaving red lipstick stains painted in red.
Some say, they fell off their bar stools onto the floor
The neighbor next door says, he heard Remo roar.

Others say that they have the love story all wrong!
At Quattro Gatti, she is the poet-in-residence:
So making love to her on his bar,
Or taking her home in his car,
Is taking the romantic fantasy too far.

However, lingering in his air: a telltale sign.
He knows exactly where she is sitting,
Familiar with her perfumed scent, forevermore,
Whenever she enters his particular door.

The truth of their encounter, lives on in one of the four
Cats, sitting still on the window sill, wearing the bell:
One saw, one heard, one dreamt, and one played,
And loyal to their Master Remo, they will never tell.

by Sharon Esther Lampert

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The Restless Sunrise

Poetree

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Gay Men Rule

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