St. Georges Arcade

Grand accents fall, I know.
  Its cold, very. I know, for you
among the laurel leaves and crumbling flowers.

Wet lash, falling about the ears snow,
  sticky and virgin
and nothing to be eaten
and nothing to be done.

And I know, love above the laughter,
                    queen of thieves, we're not winking
not smiling, nor shrinking in the plashing street ice nor shouting 'Ha!'.

Set me opposite in painted plaster.
We will leer at the larks down below, cry when it rains,
frown when it is cold and lie
all
summer
long.

cool wet glass
  cold glass is wet and creeping
heat weeps at the hanging-in-space plate
       glass, drips
                       I want
                                I
    want you all
                       here, dreaming with me
(and not those overheated dreams, full of mist and blood and rendezvous)
            breathing sweetly, sobbing with me. here. lick
laughter. quick and navy.
 steamed in coffee, stealing light. hail
 melts on tongues, between purple toes.