Lamontagne

Talk to me about what is forbidden and I'll tell you of the way she tastes. Pinot noir. Cabernet at dusk. The veranda of a lost cafe. She leaves things. Strewn about my apartment haphazardly are the remnants of a strip search set to Lamontagne . Enveloped in blankets and lit by candle light, smooth skin and chestnut hair frame eyes that sparkle in the flame. She wakes me with a ballet dancers twist of her wrists, we rise and I ask her sotto voce...can...we ..dance?