"cold coming on..."

Cold coming on but in
denial. Let's go see Geneviève
who comes with tired arms so far
to sing. Tra-la. She's so
pretty! But austere. Too tired to cook
which is what I want out of
life, and what you've promised
me, tonight. So green
chair, so buttons. So
much marjoram and no
clue what to do with it, put
it in, smells like fall and
urine. Wine. Before and
after, during too. Jobs may
vanish, but still. Fruit crushed
by brute Tootsies. A farm
with a horse in it. Cock
split the apple in two.
Toes curlicue. Spiced
interstices, mulled, proposed
possets, egg-foo. Ex-communist
toots croons contusively into
my soup. Phew. Toasted
tomato. Busted potato. You
saw it pink, exposed, silly
putty on fur, fact of
husbandry, before gelding, before
husbands. Maid or maiden
heaven or jell-o, heaving.