Turquoise Pavilion-- Chinese term for whore house

So finally I am
sinking into your comforter and
tentatively touching the edges of
an acceptable mold

I condemn myself to your wishes
your whims, your expectations

condemn myself because I cannot receive
without letting free my fruits
and giving up my cornucopia

and perhaps I am only disgracing some of my veils
perhaps there was already sand in the corners
of my ever-dry and listless eyes
perhaps this desert sleet filled my mouth
my sockets and rained down
my cheeks

I smile more, you know.
I do it with ease

having said thus, even the seductive curl of my peach-lips
nor the obsidian selectiveness I exhume with this favor
can temper my black and slithering self-disgust

I have made this turquoise pavilion:
its school is my desire, its student my face
and yet I remain as a ghost town.

I would have back my robes
the endless tassels, rows and rows of fathomless buttons
to keep hidden my milk-flesh

but it would be a rare and formidable man
with the patience for so many buttons

A courtesan does not want love
but I adore an affection without emotion
a kiss of passion that is as periodic
as my monthly bloom

and that itself
has stopped