All the stars clustered like rashes
[?] on a cheap woman's neck.
Reminding me of nothing as subtle
as a tongue slipped into an ear.

Condensed laughter streams in from the wings.
I've called for it to distract you.
I hear you sing a song of temptation and wonder
if you wrote it for me.

You'll never tell. You only give me big, big dumb juicy eyes.

I become obsessed with all sorts of omens:
birthmarks or plagues or glints in the eye.
From closer, I see your hands are sweating,
flooding their wrinkles.
I see your hands are nervous now, begging to be clutched.