A precise woman with a short haircut brings order
To my thoughts and my dresser drawers,
Moves feelings around like furniture
Into a new arrangement.
A woman whose body is cinched at the waist and firmly divided
Into upper and lower,
With weather-forecast eyes
Of shatterproof glass.
Even her cries of passion follow a certain order,
One after the other:
Tame dove, then wild dove,
Then peacock, wounded peacock, peacock, peacock,
The wild dove, tame dove, dove dove
Thrush, thrush, thrush.
A precise woman: on the bedroom carpet
Her shoes always point away from the bed.
(My own shoes point toward it.)