Les Beaux Jours

Michael C. Petersen


after Balthus 

Days of orifices. What lawns and what forests! and the mouth
that wants to be the garter, drawn softly to its soft appendage.

Because you've looked hardly into what looks hard at you
you've built a fire in the maw, widened the tongs while

we were outside, surrounded by birds of various kinds.
Pretty standard alterity. It was the manner of her hand

on a lintel, as if suggesting nextness or something well-arranged.
It was the angle of the moment she was or wasn't looking.