Dame H With A Canvas Limb (to married women)

Behold the pinched eyelet!
That three eyed heart is woken,
as she is framed for me
on crooked toes from nylon hammocks,
to tune the mossy summer whipsnake.
Dame Hollywood on Yellowbrick glossies
sidles to the scaffold pole;
she swears by affairs and furious cocaine binges
and her hilt is target by my wily range,
a fibre gizzard of inertia.

Thou art not perfect
with that flapping, moustached barnacle
on your frilly hip;
but shy not from me glassy babe
and I will pose and dare
to throw homecooked colics onto marble cheeks
as our thighs twist in excelsis grinds
kinked in endorphin hernias.

Arrest these neon arms on Dwynwens night
to defy not deify the solemn vows
and make us stand like statuettes
on starless hills visited only by prey riders.
Tryst angels in secluded coils,
crash onto sequined crests
as mania draws exotic barley from salacious roots
until beaks are at the bells again.
A solid sleep beneath clouded fathoms
to ward off widows in their paper flames...

@ Steven Francis poems 2012

The reading: