The unfurled bed; two tousled heads.
Tissues pinched into bloom, and bottles
that breathe all short of dregs
against shut pane.
Counterpane and pageant;
blasted noses, inches of coating
that wax the teeth, inches unshaven,
pits, and shins in curling hay,
unshaven ‘til ‘nother-day.
Their license, lent from the silken clothes
they’ve worn to while the week,
the week wherein they mount silken
acts for all of us to approve.
-2003
