For QKJ #14

QKJ #14

 
 
Fine Pen

He’s given me a fine pen.
And ink in a glass well like black perfume.
I sing in the shower. Not badly.
Would he book some crushed
velvet gold baroque hall? He wouldn’t.
All those naked people and my voice
dragged out of the wings. Balky
mule. In which drawer
do I stow away
from his beautiful expectation?

 
 

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