the lemon in the sky rolled you between

two biscuits creamy and slightly tart

the half - dimples, inverted commas

at the the edge of your sardonic smile

on wednesday, made mona lisa look like the hag;

not like you with your pale

skin and tomato lips on id card and photograph

and now you have back your venus de milo limbs

and you can fly up to your mountain

(it is so crazy, it is so crazy)

i shall wait there like the queen of trees

dressed in leaves and an orange turban

you rule this kingdom with your neat beard

and your royal head which bled onto your

bracelet, virgo on the floor; some blood

blooms tomato-like in my handbag 

like your red red lips