Black pelt in the cupboard dark
at the rail’s end: shiny as a beetle
carapace; huge eye fringed with
horsehair, set under Cleopatra
bangs, winged up in a Sixties’ flick.
Swan neck, bolted through
cleanly, bloodlessly. Dangling
legs, slightly spread as if in sleep
nudging suits and brushing hangers,
soft lips parted to receive
blessings, wine, warm quickenings,
hinged jaw shut –
removable tongue wiped clean,
set in place. Her Cindy Crawford
beauty spot his one concession to taste.