Tuileries

 

Twilight, Tuileries, trembles, tulips, then

tomfoolery. Cafe au lait, collar new

beneath her trenchcoat, navy blue. Her yin,

the silver links his yang, the gold. She flew

to him nineteen years old. His growl

“good evening,” telephone — a voice

with fangs, a face unknown. She’s hotel howls

with bit, licked lips, stilettos, nude — his choice;

she’s wrapped in whips. She’s strung and strummed, starlet

du jour. In bows and stings, this lust matures.

First love a chain that buckles, chokes. Ardent

affirmations rosé, azure procure.

No ring such decadent desire denotes —

their bond, Louis Vuitton, around her throat.

 

 

Pine

 

Incarcerated in her head, black oak

staircase, wrought iron bed. She’s put away

each night to pine, your babydoll, her broke

down mind. Secret the staircase, sky slate gray,

descent to darkness, as you say. Projects

a prison with restraints, padlocks — a toy

returning to its opened box. Perfect

she ponders, mental cage; supine, such poise,

that’s part refined/teenage. A needy girl

you teach to wait. Daybreak delights she dreams,

anticipates. Her arms entwined above

her head, pulled taut ribcage, ropeless regime;

bedspread sunbeams your coniferous grove.

Seedling selected for her fertile mind.

Inside, each morning, your exquisite pine.