A ride into oblivion costs but two kisses
Where did my Dmitri go?
He is lying in milky sheets, aside his whistler lover,
while the temples outside shimmer
with unspoken yen and sweet sweet eyelashes
and pans of veiled peaches sail by
-peaches and plums and apricots in curry powder
as a side dish please-
and cherry blossom or sakura or yakult falls like
snowy cadavers over technicolour grey skyscrapers.
But whistler lover is the one who sends
colour wheels via fax and talks about what tiles
to choose for the kitchen.
Red upon red upon red upon red.
Dmitri whispers in my ear in crowded streets --
— ‘Do you want to get dumplings?’
I am sick of dumplings. I will die before I eat another dumpling.
Where did my Dmitri go?
He is lying in milky sheets, aside his whistler lover,
while the temples outside shimmer
with unspoken yen and sweet sweet eyelashes
and pans of veiled peaches sail by
-peaches and plums and apricots in curry powder
as a side dish please-
and cherry blossom or sakura or yakult falls like
snowy cadavers over technicolour grey skyscrapers.
But whistler lover is the one who sends
colour wheels via fax and talks about what tiles
to choose for the kitchen.
Red upon red upon red upon red.
Dmitri whispers in my ear in crowded streets --
— ‘Do you want to get dumplings?’
I am sick of dumplings. I will die before I eat another dumpling.
