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.
image: Stephanie Ledoux “Lotus”
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.
Image: Ronell Ferreira “Pink Protea”
