Burnish the petal and stare sharply

towards the bookstacks.

Languish starry clothespins.

Storm lavish trombones

with clawed villages.

Clone oysters in the park.

Steal a juxtaposition.

It is role playing your iguana

with sweetened scales.

Spool pigeons in a basket on my lap.

                                                                          The top hat glances in my direction.
                                          India, croquet my whisper.

The motif is a soccer coach.

He fringes brandy glasses

with Pacific spoons,

but he cannot spark me,

as I chat with a quiche

over threaded shackles.

They are flower spinners

on a pottery wheel, easing

graphite towards my hand.

I explode nail polish on your coffee table.

                                                                        A purple stereotype

                                                             breathes Artemis,

surely enough to ignite

the parlor’s breath.

It breathes grimy

clothespins that cling

to my shoulder.

                                       You hand-craft the moon.

                                                                            Starlight, spoon towards me.

                                                                                              Flock my voices.