You mistake my distance for ladies in black shoes,
Tapped, high walking on city pavements
In the late afternoon.
Do not look too clearly into my hotel room
Of these days, where furniture is trained
To ignore the stains on the sheets
And the blood on the floor.
The walls are silk skin and the door thighs
Moan as we pass along;
Our hair in gloves, our hands in sighs
Of auburn and fanciful gold braids.
Listen; look at my glass casement eyes
And wonder in my absence
If you are forgiven,
Or possibly
Whether I should continue
To shudder and love,
Love in the hot bellies of the ladies in black shoes,
As they journey each bleached and powdered
Afternoon
Down
The corridors of this tap, tap hotel.
