sordid scripture,
warring woman,
both menace and coquettish innocence
—barricaded.
statues,
fountains,
and restraining orders,
filling the garden:
decorations of
sunlight on a clock,
and a view into tomorrow,
revealing the "texture" of her skin
within the realm of her navel,
as soft as lace,
as smooth as
the surface of a pond.
before diving in
gives an otherworldly radiance,
her shape and smile
compared to everyday realities
are solemn in the extreme,
the dawn threatens
to break in the east.
her voice,
(a lungfully deep, sensuous purr),
is so distinctive,
come what may,
this could be happiness:
sullen, waylaid and capricious,
her urban sexuality hidden
in the attic of revolution,
suffused with the dreamlike, hazy glow
of colored lights and tinsel.
desire is like Christmas
—it always promises
more than it delivers.
