It always comes too late but much too quick,
That happening I never can resist,
That solo venture snaring with bright trinkets slick
attempt to make nostalgia felt persist.

A lot of wine has muddied quagmire toll,
A finger crushed, a broken toe to tell
The heart on fire to join the ancient stroll,
The soul a little while not fearing hell.

Of course one will remember strings of pearl,
Hot dog for show, and kisses in the dark.
How many years now have I made the whirl?
Calliope is washing out all marks.

So how few clothes shall I put on tonight?
Clothes make the man but make the man uptight.

~ Robert Stone, 27 February 2017