I can't remember
How she'd have problems
With high-collared seats
Especially leaning over
Without kicking
Into the radiator
And melting away the vial
Some dress up form of lure
And you'd sit across
Pretending to laugh
Wanting to x-ray her sponsors
Transversals in her tights
Such black atrocities
I hope the cutting cadence
Wouldn't be too fast
But en route
You'd twin the pipe
And she'd shield her face
In you
So you'd beg her not to hide
If only that's what
You wished for
A pen not worthy of sonnets