Countess

    Imagining the smoke burnt
    imprint of a tatoo
    with tapers flickering,
    the bejewelled gaze a dragon's snout
    must bring
    or the serpent coil, crimson flame
    curl of dashing cobra,
    its very fangs drawing
    lifeblood from the fleshy
    perch in smooth, red scorching.

    On the pectorals of a sailor.
    Perhaps whiplash of the granite waves,
    grim trucker with a "Mother"
    grasping chains
    that see burly sandbags in place -
    hirsute biker, cords of
    hair lashing his tattooed lady
    the lavender caress of scar
    with implant that
    of the chopper itself,
    her fleshy buttocks
    careening off the road.

    I was playing sonatas on your skin -
    no beauty & the beast scenario
    though the Tower pulchritude was intact
    with enough purple agape grape leaves
    and ivy for a fig-leaved Eve
    with wind wet at the windows
    (and later the willows),
    where gravelly, cloven hooves became party
    to my thoughts; for you,
    blessed with a triangular patch,
    - and something like strawberry -
    lay moist & woven into strict tapestry
    like a mantle covering
    abrupt oasis of skin
    (the better to peer in).

    I scaled the heights
    not castle vaults, mind you,
    but the elevator shaft and draw-bridge equivalent
    of a white charger -
    fierce visor in place
    - armour gleaming -
    a sabre ...

    These shell-queens, too,
    are blithely catpaws,
    shorn & musky acorns with
    indexed fingers erect
    at manicured attention.

    II
    ... Showboats with green faces far as swallows fly,
    a lilac in oasis ... scarlet bream
    ... blue ointment where the ocean is
    periwinkle patches,
    a robin's egg clarity pressed
    between blue-nosed tavern wall
    & bottles clinking.

    III
    See plush cords,
    the suede interior
    svelte & slinky
    an upholstery simonized
    with natural springs where
    bubbles encounter founts
    in apertures, the rich measure
    of open ground or mezzanine curtain
    slit along a riverine walk
    & jungle clearing.

    IV

    Iced coffee,
    wedge of toast -
    the sun poking thru
    cranberry glass
    delights exquisite Duchess of Berry,
    her decanters & an hourglass.

    Halo-hello in your fingertips
    I said,
    to a cadaver of light
    boldly striking a tuning fork
    to ring an engagement
    of gold flecks
    by your bed.

    Limoges vase
    for lace and pretty underthings
    for outside the stream
    steals my interest,
    wearing tumbledown silk pyjamas
    and a peek-a-boo smile that points
    thru reed curtains.

    A rustle from her chemise
    and sun parasol parts green boudoir
    draping shiny, black rock.

    The muddle of this earth-time puzzle,
    brief flutter to the eyelid...

    In youth, Death was
    a puny boy possessing but
    wormy hands & fleshless fingers
    as in Witch Hazel
    or Scrooge's Future Ghost
    - that insipid Evil One
    Hansel so easily outwitted
    in a gingerbread house.

    Time brought increased notoriety.
    Saucy times with a soupçon of respect
    for the artful dodger.
    Givens change, an armful of
    orange lilies, limp & loathsome,
    on a tombstone door
    before trumpets of rain.

    Graven images. Lifeless stone.
    Death became stone.
    Stone empty. The maggot emptiness
    burrowing into chiselled easel and
    the stone-cutter's savage magic.
    Just a bitty stone
    to herald a passing.

    Night-jars.
    Old straw-...

    1
    The moon hummed like a refrigerator,
    light thru shadows
    - the solitude of dusk closing in;
    black scars visible across
    the moon's face shaped like
    mountainous hands, all
    silent, the occasional leaf rustling.

    2
    My fork at plate's edge listening,
    listening to the haunting one eye
    on the staircase wall white
    as the numb light outside palest night.
    Caught off-guard, the musty settee
    and armchair acting as hallucinogen
    to the nostril, the calendar of events
    playing ghostly tag with sheer curtains
    hovering, shroud-like, on the family Bible
    big and brown as the Lord's foot stool.

    3
    The unravelling tale slowly much as
    thick yarn with a kitten