It appeared to be my season for blondes-
Once dark ones- bleached to an inch of white;
Interval acts, lasting only the required amount of time
Before the audience lost interest and fidgeted in their seats.
You found me almost naked- drunk on gay pride
And neat vodka on a side street somewhere
I will never, for the life of me, be able to retrace
Under blistering July skies- my pee-stop away from royal-less queens
Who had ascended on the streets of Paris like it was their last dance of the season.
I was fresh white bait for you to snatch before yourself
And the summer sun burnt me- pink to a crisp,
Fodder to be grazed upon so as to merely pass the time.
You flirted yourself over me as I gazed on you
Behind semi conscious eyes, trying to distinguish the intensions
That lay beyond your angelic appearance- A devil in white
With hungry lips mistaking my totally intoxicated, almost naked,
Fully starved, pathetic condition for an easy lazy lay and yet,
As I proved all the more a challenge of a catch, you followed suit
And stood your ground as hunter with pray in sight.
Panic stricken lesbians tried to tear me from you
Fearing my need for sleep to be a step away from death
But they failed to distract you- although the ambulance they called
Stopped you in your tracks and halted your success or so I thought
Till I awoke in a veil of hospital white and chlorine aromas and saw
Your hand caressing mine and I freely fell pray to your tracking.
I swam in your nets for a month- twenty nine days
Longer than I thought possible and not one day more than I should have.
I was sceptical, friends had questions and you remained
Nothing more than a charms step from aloof.
Perhaps the reflection of yourself you caught in the glint of my eyes
Charmed you, perhaps my foreign status excited you or perhaps
You saw more in me than I at the time, though I think not that you looked that deep.
I remember during that time, it was night, 2am,
And I was walking home alone through cobbled twists
Of unimaginative Les Halles- all asleep but for the dwellers of the dark.
I was slowly moving away from you- in search of something
More real, more true, more to hold on to.
I was looking for something more lasting in this city
Of so much history, but had woken up- lost in the transitory.
You had fallen sharply from my grace- that white angelic figure
I had questioned you to be while fuelled on alcohol
Had lost its glow in the clear light of many a dark and dingy club.
I saw you there, admiring only your own reflection in the mirror
As you smoked your joints, snorted your poppers and closed your eyes
To all else but your own satisfaction. I was not a game to be played
Or a boyfriend to trade for an hours touch of another
In the back room of a former church, with disco lights, discounted drinks
With coveting confessions carried out on bended knee.
Our excitement of each other had been merely how we’d met
While our ending proved much more forgettable
And as visible from the beginning as the roots beneath the blonde.