the color bananas and cream
and the Hesperides perfume

my hair blonder in your hands

enter with a paperbag as if of tumbling oranges
hips and wings in stereophonic sound, warning—soft and hygienic, pure eyelid

attach to an existing person, a real man
brass buttons on his briefcase, the coal scent of leather

or that nervous scent of a cotton candy’s vat in the air, someone to meet at the carnival— 
as in 
             childhood 

really 
the whole costume was lipstick, believe me I bled nowhere 
anyone could see not even me 

but it’s more a feeling, look! 
—I am here, a real prayer 

clean of existing, loose of that god’s eye 
if he saw me tonight I’d be a basket of fresh white pleated hellos!