she sits, a stone.
An ivory tower
as they drone.
Like a lilac flower

she blends in
the mauve curtains.
Drinking her tonic and gin.
The clink of ice and chit-chat.

She nods and smiles.
So still, she's sat
it pains her piles.
Women flutter

like butterflies.
Men stutter
straightening their ties.
Walking to the table

of crackers and cheese
she can't stable
her wobbling knees.
She takes a bite

and wipes her lips.
A smudge of pink
on her lace napkin.
Her hair piled high

with a hatpin.
She sips
her watered drink.
The lanky guy

blinks like a light.
His unzipped fly
makes her shrink
like bubbles in the sprite.

He weaves in and out
with an open mouth.
Talks with a drawl
like a hick from the south.

She's uninvited.
So, she can't decline.
Is she slighted?
Or out of line?

all the tangles
with the snap of a finger
or the toss of my head
the wag of my tongue

split the things that he said
do I go back to the place
of imaginary grace? Inside of
my youth, a prize lies

for the lost tooth. Under
my pillow, as the sun slides
down from the sky, as the shades
are drawn to a lullaby. The hands

on the clock race. Do I go back
to this place? A place of paper dolls
and bunny walls. And teacups and saucers
flying over the falls.

draping over her.
Blowing minted kiss,
In a sea of grass.
Another day shall

pass. Glazed eyes mist
into a lime twist.
Dangling participles,
arms and wrist. Head

dropped back, stuffed
as a gunny sack. Hair spread
as a shaggy carpet. The argot of
the poet's dream. All the pages

in-between
of men and silent children’s
screams. But she can breathe
the air lying in cornflower cotton

and rope. This world forgotten,
with a drink to have her afloat.
Swinging, hanging suspended.
This is the life she intended.

He Puts Too
in front of everything
I do.
Too Intense -
Too Demanding -
Too Loud -
Too Talkative -

Two is the loneliest number
I've known.
When he's with me
I'm alone.
My shell is my home.

So, as I left him
he asked for forgiveness.
Too Late

with yellow fingers spread
and a chocolate cupcake for her head.
Blooming the month of June. In August
is her honeymoon. Rising in fields

of green the sunny face
of childhood dreams. Blowing kisses
in the wind/dancing with her native kin.
Making her brim in cherry lip

Smiles. Cornflower sky for miles.
The sweetest nectar for the butterflies
and bees. Growing in the garden/a midnight spree.
Tickling me from nose to knees.

This little *** of gold/noon day cup of tea
with her own complimentary leaves.
How did this name impel
into battery you befell?

the pyramids of egypt
swim the seven seas
climb Mount Everest
but I'd not find

a man so soft and kind.
I'd bathe in turquoise waters
on a shore of pink powder sand
among cockleshells and waves

that swell and still not feel myself
without you to hold my hand.
Butterflies, key lime pie and
a cornflower sky don't do a thing

for me if I'm not with you. Morning dew
would look like sweating leaves. And cotton
candy clouds would look as shrouds
on corpses hung on trees.

minus the sweetness
and the stuffing
minus the plump berries
the rising powder and sugar
egg and the oil
the silver liners of foil
minus the flour and milk
much here to bilk
but the blue hangs on
like a torch drawn song
it permeates his hands
an indelible stain
that she wears behind her
as a bridal train