IV.

The wounded surgeon plies the steel
That quesions the distempered part;
Beneath ,he bleeding hands we feel
The sharp compassion of the healer's art
Resolving the enigma of the fever chart.

A ménage à trois of still-sizzling oysters in bed with vinegar-tossed frisee
A very dry champagne, sitting in the sun surfers sliding over sand
Both of us a bit numb at the edge of our head from flying too far too fast
Thank you for coming, I say. Thanks for asking, you smile
I am dazzled you’re here and suddenly feel utterly hopelessly dumb.