Last Bus to Virtue

The last bus passed my door an hour ago
as an uptown night of sensual symphonic
music plays to feed free illusions of caprice
dimmed in subtle shades of neon flashbacks
too late to leave this warm quilted comfort
sleep the passing hours to forget tomorrow
that awaits us downtown in the backstreets
where East meets West tribal in its turmoil
decadent to fascinate cosmopolitan gringo
girls emotionally liberated cool sex safaris
where black espresso meets creamed peach
perfection spread on sunlit seductive strips
cooling in shady bars with pineapple colas
reflected in the mirrors a smile remembers
his past video of conquests in naked nights
now veiled in flesh as we flick fast forward
to the present always different from the past
until free narration of shared sirocco’s desire
coalesces virgin lust transmuting alchemist’s
wisdom to repose in blue negative formation
a flashlight explodes the cover girl sensation
locked together in the chequer board game
at stake pawns scurry as black knight moves
across to mate his queen in white engender
carnal as four lettered words that elucidate
life’s rationale in momentary appreciation
                                                 of lost virtue

Tony Hunter


If you've any comments on his poem, Tony Hunter would be pleased to hear from you.