Classic Poem

upon the room's
silence, i will sew

a nagging button of candlelight
(halfstooping to exactly kiss the trite

worm of her nakedness
until it go

rapidly to bed: i will get in with
it, wisely, pester skilfully, teasing
its lips, absurd eyes, the hair). Creasing
its smoothness — and leave the bed agrin with

memories
(this white worm and i who

love to feel what it will do
in my bullying fingers)
as for the candle, it'll

turn into a little curse

of wax. Something, distinct and. Amusing, brittle