So in dripping caramel on the
Canvas mirage,
Red hair breaching silver
To bulwark her feet
Which sit in slippers
Miming the clock’s pace,
.
She is too ready to give,
And who
Would look at her hands there,
Her hips so ready to
Imbue another,
Her breasts so ready to feed.
.
In starred nighttime,
Her silhouette
Embarks upon
The concoction,
The madness of a new child,
Mercy born, to feed.