Dubious
The way you lift your garter
Tuned to the classical tone
Of inebriant wind through
Your shocking locks of flame,
Suggestions
That your cloven hoof covers —
A white nun's face
With burgundy swirling around
As random as the wind but more fanatic,
A radiant cardiac concerto
Where every move is choreographed perfection
Downward,
A dance of death
Where the viewer, not the dancer, dies.
And you say:
"Ouija boards are dangerous.
No self-respecting Greek peasant woman
Would let her sons be caught with one."
