I mistook your name for softness

but you punctured that
impressionist landscape,
tearing through the lamb's ear garden with
contusions, and left
the calcium of your animals
in me.

we went to the store for icecream
and came back with plums.
We marveled their purplish skin,
we dropped them on our feet and
cleaned the vodka off the counter;
and we
held those bruised fruits to our arms and
watched them skew
their bubonic plague
and were painted
puce, yellow, and

there was
a girl in the bathroom
who puked herself up
a midget queen.

but she let our her fan fair
let her fox shirts fly
and provoked a violet
to keen


would you love me if
my nethers tasted of vodka?

sex and fruit.
this i can
easily understand

but i must ask---
do ask---
why must every excitement
involve alcohol?