Teenage Damsel

Teenage damsel, with your short dresses and
pixie-cut hair--you were stealing melodies
from the vernacular of the grave,
where evenings passed between the setting sun
and the glow of blushing twilight.
Classic tongue--Latin fledgling,
soaring through the misty folk
barely a feather touching
the vibrations from your peer's windows.
Oh, those shallow idols
with their popped collars
and worn, black, leather sandals--
They imbibe too much sun!
So, take your pen, Sleeping Beauty,
and write of the Holy City's streets,
the people, the parties, the empty feeling
that is regurgitated each time
you drift into a quibbling sleep.