But there’s armour in glamour – a mirror’s feisty glare of brow & lips –
a shield of heavy floral scent– ardour in her gestures – waiting for
the non-existent call – & stylish torpor on a sterile afternoon – amen to the small
bronze men with 24 karat souls – they prop open doors where joy might cat-sneak in –
the twentieth century invented the microwave for your solitary meals – hide Russian
water in your flask – hear new and improved women read scripts meant for you – a
memory of fat-cigar smelling fingers – brown trails on your porcelain neck – ghost of
‘stick with me kid, I’ll get you in the movies’– should it ring let the phone ring – let
it ring – shut the bedroom door – we’ll meditate on diamonds – our best friends –
wear an expensive yoke from Tiffany’s – remember Mae’s words? – hey Beulah, peel
me a grape – there isn’t any man in the world worth getting lines over – a teardrop
pendant sliding over heart or breast – depending on the beholder’s eye.