we speak with a face of resolute absurdity
spit bullets of futile calumny
  hushed in silence bereft of theater
alluringly fresh when a newness is nearer

a rash of a tumbled tinkered mind
just having left her square body behind
  a **** and a pat, lips pursed no longer painted
ignored by the night so readily tainted

but you ask how can that be for you, for me
it was meant to surrender like an ebb tide sea
surely adrift her romp will soon flush back
like a swan song riddle or gold filled sack

Imogene, Rita, Ellen or Jane
bouncy full bloomed bosoms, in a ***** rain
more sorrows and spindles and silky skin
less time to make sturdy the morning's din

songs and sweet nectars to drink a splash
humming moans and heaving sash
eyes closed filled with a roaring constellation
memories ablaze filled with deep elation

what face we just talked about here writ
in previous verse not subject to theory or wit
just a mind's plainness as usual as can be
a moment casual as tweedily dah and tweedily dee