the colour wheel

A Red Nebula

I thought of one girl's dress
with her red legs migrating beneath it
(Alouette, gentille Alouette)
friendless but hoping for chances
her tanned shoulders, bony like a fish
making solitude of her body's architecture
a white firmament that holds stars in the form of
freckles that smear her cheeks and arms
the pink smile of her tan lines are vacuous
(Alouette, je te plumerai)
her feathers are bland and unhappy
dead too young, or before her time
everything has come to sleep in her eyes
the dress is continuous
there is no nudity beneath
her breasts
her thigh
they are the curve of mortality
receding forever in the universe

there is no want in my mouth
or hunger in my finger tips
I'm not in pain - I don't ache
my hands don't itch or shake
but my throat is dry
and I feel like turning you on

s. Sparling