AND TALLULAH SENT HER CAR FOR ME

I charmed my way
through her string of pearls,
chantilly, odious thick
with forgotten perfumes -
as a stylish coquette or parakeet
preening cocked robust feathers
spread before her blush randy boudoir.
Within,
without,
and not much consideration,
for self evasion
on how many men
been before,
How many then?
How many more?
Quenching my desperation
in rancid little bubbles
flat champagne of youth elapsed -
any glass slipper will do,
but the open-toed need not submit,
or sell short
perchance,
per hour,
seeming gratitude
turned under thin-lipped crocodile tears
and Tallulah sent her car for me.