Tomorrow lies in my bed
As rugged as a coast.
I marvel at the sleepiness of my fist.
Where has my fight gone?
Has it left me for another woman?
A woman with more steel in her back,
a chest of gravel?
Brawny and blue and wastefully.
I adore extravagance.
He wants to tell me what to do,
I luxuriate in commands.
I am no longer holding my dice.
They burn in the green fire writhing in the corner.
This is not my game.
This is not my life.
It is time to surrender.
Beauty has frost bite and is just
going to live that way.
The stench is aggressive.
I have been living whichever way is out of sight
from Age and Lust.
Beauty and I go way back
to a year I only remember as a pile of sugar to play in.
Skin scrubs keep Age away.
The truth is Beauty and Lust have never met,
though some think they are a couple.
Lust’s eyes are inverted in her face,
her longings contorted and her hearth
Her name is Tracy and she looks at men all day
on screens and streets and books.
She is made of desires women are not supposed to have,
her sisters rendered blind by modesty.
Her dearest friend looks only at the swirl of turquoise
feelings that envelope her man
and never the back or the shoulders that Tracy hungers for
at every party,
unwrapping him from his suit while her friend prays over the meal.
And what no one knows except the pantry of his brain,
is he longs to be kissed by her lashes,
loves to be seen as a thrill,
as a man sees a woman
and a woman is forbidden to see a man.