ベトナムの芸者
scent is flagrant, pungent of an opium…
poppy`s, they bleed in seeds disrupt;
in her sleazy district of show long
butterflies weep
`neath the cocooned hues
like painted ladies
on red gossamer doors
blistering in dragon`s breath ~
mildew is a flower…
quaint and gold, rings on an absent finger
white paddies, they are vast
and evasive upon her mekong pu`bis
black as the center it folds, blossoms
bloom and scent of cherries papier mache
where blasphemous lover`s kiss in orals;
this is her celestial, sainted and fornicated
her face, damaged, her soul, feathered
and drifting in the bastard winds,
her body moans through her necessary bones;
in the afternoon teas and turtle baths of longevity
he who bids holds fast in the moments of forever;
this is the old way,
you will not see this again
