Lifting his head from the paper he noticed her orange hair.

In the drawing room you sat shaven / among cleavages rank with sweat.

Blizzards wait
Hold back abandon

I wake at night and pace
the length of my digestive tract
to where the path obscures

Somehow the days take care of themselves.
Desire that feels as if it will scorch
The skin of wanting doesn’t get fulfilled

Those three angels,
Know everything about me.
They assist at the cycle of each day’s creation:

                           That signpost that was love
Is lost now. We thought we knew so much,

The high elms provide
A pillared avenue
Where only birds parade,

Boyhood, a dangling carrot. I stare at you
and experience the embarrassment of riches.