Turtle doves bring sheltered lust,
and tie down their rose-petal inhibitions,
with cultured pearl thread.
Lusting baby catbirds,
in a mock-orange world.
Lacing love with arsenic,
to get a sugar-plum high.
The ones you t e l l me about,
in every stolen g l a n c e in my direction,
A tattered piece of bloody lace,
twirled around a former lover’s finger.
Your ten dollar hooker love won’t C U T the diamond-fly cocaine lines anymore.