Appetite (7)

Eyes fix exits as if sirens rattled them.
And voices, condensed to purrs,
settle again to sums revealed in star-fire,
each derangement recognized, each

simmering missed career, bristling calls
made pass as autumn geese or binaries.
I listen, offer more.  Kicks trimmed,
served rare.  And step with them,

fielding scents and the choices now of sportswear,
over the marble and parquet, feeling
some good for once, managed in thrusts
or plunge, in swoons, squat-lifts,

desserts let play to the sufficient opulence,
teasing the nods and natural chic,
the driven points that might be liabilities
or tax-structures.  Anything but these,

ripping their meals out by hand, digging in,
scrabbling to ground level from cover:
He eyes the silverware as if.  He meditates
clean-shots.  And she their common

tailorings laid out, called from needless
to sea-glint, reading the thick-lined trace,
the blank or pencilled whim or mis/reaction,
feeling the doubles now,

and smokes refined by leisures out-of-doors,
indulging the air-sprung wines,
the air made powdery rounding
frescoes and old stone. 

 

© Appetite (2)