Still Life, No Roses

honey / he says / to the willow-waisted
whippet girl / to the feather fabergé /
to the teeth picker bone in his hardy
stew sweetheart / he wants to see
your errant fumblings miss / with the
lace off snow virgin / and two long
braids / not horns but handles / cabled
through the skull / to string you up
for dinner parties darling / to rein
in the whole song and dance in a
backless dress / no more two ma’ams
sipping tea from coffee-cratered cups /
baby you’ll be stored in buckskin with
the pens / don’t worry / he’ll suckle
each pearl ‘cause this is a seduction
can’t you tell? / and the weathervane’s
on hiatus with the good towels / all
these little things missing from the
mantelpiece / just you sugar lathered
up / no love or posies / just entropy
unfurled on that fake Bronx beach /
and me / lover / burnt to blush