Love Bomb

Mars’ pit–partisan wit
They orbit the universe astray
‘O brazen marching–
He’s going to Venus to
write history anew

Footbinders; dead ringer, father–
Corsetmakers; dead ringer, my friend’s selling relationships
just like my mother, Eve,
They will have them march down in a spring of thorns and light
It’s wedding of the century:
“Taste that apple, she is your sin,
When all’s a Mars everyplace you go,”
‘O Damsel in distress,
Your captor
is a knight in a shining armor

Mars, girl; Mars, sir,
Drawing his lips near your breasts, yes–
Don’t drive that streetcar yet
“They have to be Desire,
They have to be Blanche,”
they wailed–
follow St. Paul

Flirt fishers; dead ringer, mother–
Jailbaiting; dead ringer,
my friend’s selling relationships
just like my father, Adam,
They will have them lounged in their gothic fainting room
It’s fashion of the century:
Porcelain face
Belladonna eyes
Brownsugars–
We will be, born from a rib