Pass the source!

Maybe, black is the source
and light is the intruder.

Meanwhile, stars sparkle
on blackened canvas,
as the wind opens
the rickety gates of dawn.

While the hush begins
in the smokey den
on stage the woman
removes her garter.

The breathing of incense
feeds the desire
her eyes move
on shadowed walls,
tumbling ice shakes
cocktails slithering
on tongues as we speak,
the laughter rings on.