of sludged stained sauces
in a steel saucepan of
A sleepy slender somewoman’s silver-circled finger
on a grease-misted hand
Sloshes a circus of solidifying
streams in searing chicken-seed.
She soon stops,
someman’s sorrowful slightly sore
hand, sliding sadly down her sallow back,
some several inches or so south of
her sorrowfully swollen face.
some recent secret scene ago
slips its stifled memory between
the separated someones.
the supine seed sloshes
and sizzles on the side of the stern steel pan.
She silently serves someman a salty saucepan
to sate his simple
He slices his serving, while they sustain the so unslicable
After a soon satisfied stream of stealthy burps,
he slips out to start the stoical stationary car.
He is soon at some slamming sort of work.
So in her sarcophagal study
of solitude and seams she sews
a hardening stream of stitched, stained string.
Skilled fingers slip and knit a worn special sexy shameless silk slip,
some several inches south of a salt streaming somewoman’s face.
in her sarcophagal study of their secret tensions.
she can’t see…
She sees she can’t sew them
while the sun still shines
on the secret shameful sexed slip
of his hand.
[Also a personal favorite, but still haunting.]