Leggy and impenetrable,

the lissome fiend glides out of me,

like a misdirected bomb,

with its automatic propriety.

Unholy gentleman,

irrefutable and predictable,

do you ask nothing of me?

x

With your

Inconsistency,

petty, it is religion.

Like human interference,

vengeful and rigid

and I,

a stanched virgin, festering, her

disdain of men, in

a round bowel, an iron cauldron.

You plummet,

as they sleep, I wait under window,

disquieting defeat.

x

Her oils sizzle

it slips out,

lacy and transparent,

medicinal rosemary,

a mental ointment

x

Every night

as I keep her content, to find that I, I

did her in.

My Victorian

with her box of tin.

Her black wit, but

bleached body,

emanating cleanliness,

like her starched, burgundy dress,

willful prison.

x

Are you proud, dear, white one,

Halloween children, draped in linen?

All thoughts,

linear, medieval.

Poison apothecary, why I fear death,

tonight, bare,

behindlocked window,

my woman, the highwayman.

x

I sleep in mockery,

all grin, my countenance.

I sleep in health, freely.

High-heeled debauchery,

never healing,

cavernous red on your chest,

never baring your ankles

to social unrest.