This was supposed to be your time
Your culinary thrill of lacks
Of withholding and yet
Her red terry cloth poem
Was gentle and clever and despite
Its applause lacked an ending and I pin her against the brick wall and tell her so
It must turn sharp at the end I say
I show her in a delirium of fabrics
It’s an obligation, a blind frenzy, a hard stop
Then the lispy collagist from Texas and the beautiful
Blue eyed singer, face tight like a boxer
We share passions are fearless and abandon each other
At the now empty eating hall a gallery-quality life
Hewn Yet the bathroom there a mess
The door blown off the stall