Your black pearl eyes are in heat.
"Follow me," they say,
to the little town of my mind.
Your small body (a viola I used to
covet in my 6 year-old phase)
under my blanket tucked.
You were a stuck-up clown,
gummed to mediocrity,
scoring almost zero in your tests.
You looked upon me as a princess,
perfumed with early airs,
veining with a dash of the Inchon-blue sadness,
childish-red madness, I
wanted to slap you (your face running
through pearls of blood, airs, and tears).
I wanted so much to doll you up!
I wanted so much to make you into
someone else altogether -- to fling you
into flippant sails of crumbling boats
(paper escapades of kites whipping with tails
of past news). How free I was up there, lost
in the glamour of immaculate ghosts!
You were carefree -- lost in the wonders or pleasures
of the senses. But I (I) felt
a flesh-colored pain,
drumming through my ears (ships of
hearts are drifting in green-lidded seas
along the skins of dancing waves
as women robed in traditional fashion
weep, moles signifying their occupations).
What things I saw there -- my
nose tweaked by that something uniquely.
My lips set off into kisses of tomorrow,
stretching past time and space. I can't say what
it is I saw... it wasn't something for a
child's eyes.
You blanket you! You laughing bizarre!
You saved me from the wiles of
that evil, deceptive insect
who patterns with the flight of its song
the countries of one's desires.
