Early autumn in Mayfair

I saw you sneak a look at me, O Atthis
As you strolled along like a shaded brook
With your fellow acolytes of Andromeda. The city's jarring notes
Fluted forth like claxons all around Berkeley Street. The early autumn sun
Still attends that mirror image of himself, your face. Your eyes,
Sad-for-a-moment, were they just now singed by his flares? Your hips
Still snake to the rythmic beat of our mother Aphrodite. My arm
I would it was that was slung around your waist
In place of that mud-brown, weave-patterned belt. My tongue
Wishes to slide along your ridges, calling forth
Lydian horsemen galloping across the black earth.