Sat up on the plush, pillowed chair
Crossed milky legs, flattened hair,
and feels it bright to giggle and
arch her slender bow.
I stop despite, to belly on reflection
Peering up from the gleam eye of perfection
blood impress & blood impressing, blood
to blood to time compressing.
You who go mourned
Should not a man look to be forgiven
Should not a man protest for dying only once
But living so many lives for bunker and bunce?