Peacock

Do not strut

Vainglorious chimney
sweep

Do not parade

Your quiver of
gaudy brushes

I will not
browse

Your tattered wares

Nor
stand

Transfixed as your cooing honeymilk
patter

Drips in waxy strips

Down
your sleek marine neck

Close your
fan

Arch dandy

Retreat behind your
brocaded screen

Let concubines lick
clean

Your powdered silken
cheeks

I see
through

The clouded glass of your
charade.