Like Fall, like deciduous doubloons,
I watched scarf, blouse, skirt slip quietly from shoulder and limb.
Not like rain, not all at once like lightning, but like autumn,
like those weeks on stage, the preening of leaf, proud in the blush of sugary death.
And I knew, in that moment, I was dead to all I had known before,
her breath fluttering the pages of my knowledge to the wind of her southern educated lips.