Vos erant non nefas Tom. Vos erant iustus nefas super mihi
1.
The faint smells of woman paint
Canvas clouds on a morning,
In a morning pose upon a bed,
The soft strands of knotted hair
In bands across the eyes,
In ties of coded red,
Framed but false and uneventful.
Which point you to the difference
Between the caring and conceit
Of love, and loves retreat
To care.
It’s only care which states
In the remorseless calm of
Ivory gates, that you
Will her to be happy;
For in love you cannot care:
As five-hundred days divide
To ninety subtle minutes,
The rewind to the night
Of aspiration and of dreams
Somewhere in Kentucky,
Somewhere I’ve never been.
2.
Let me tidy my stinking room
And enjoy being Zooey,
And harmlessly stroke my hair
And grapple my growing boobs,
To feel the feelings of the feeler,
The feline strokes of skin,
As one eats ones own head
But cannot touch ones own skin,
How upsetting!
I could be me again
And watch with the guilt the
Mean guise of quilted floral
Patterns deflowered: the lean
Spleen of jumping, dancing,
The caffeine which makes her
Manic, the pixie where lies
Her beauty, but the dream
Remains a dream.