Cousin Peggy
Once, in the French Quarter,
We swirled, tipsy shadows on brick walls.
Back at her place, our lips
Teased the line of forbidden.
Peggy, blonde wisp, laughter pealing
Like church bells at high noon.
A slight girl, feet delicate as sparrows,
Her chest, two firm secrets
Undiscovered by these longing hands.
The smile that told unacted plays,
The laugh that danced in empty rooms—
We lingered there, on the edge of sin,
Never tumbling into the abyss.
Now, just a ghostly fondness remains,
A sip of desire never fully quenched.
And the thought of her, that sprightly muse,
Resurrected in the quiet sighs of reminiscence.