“Sit over there on the sofa no dear the white one but mind
where you put your feet and leave the coat unbuttoned yes
very pretty like a red painting or a two-line poem pity,
death, because I didn’t know your eyes would be dark
and deep like the sea outside or think
those delicate wrists would be pulsing with so much life
the wife was a brown rodent fat as a field
you know I might have finished her myself but
she died before I had that pleasure ha so
stand up and turn very slowly now
pour me a little wine before I come kiss
those lips of yours they beckon and how.”
