she is made solid against a red door
her waist nips just so, she is thinking

is thinking of a wine with hints of pineapple
and peach, its pairing with havarti
and crab������she has a kitchen in the corner shadows

outfitted with cunning measuring spoons that spark
the dark in stainless������she plans a first course

crusted in five-spice powder while sitting
on her bed, a statue of alabaster turned to watch
the day outside the window burnish with age

empty hours of light drain into night -
her toes grow cold while smoothing
the sheets she leaves�����bare

to waltz the streets
in her Wellingtons


� 2004 by PJ Nights