alice

alice, my acrobatic love,

hastens the simmering sauce,

melting pans

in her japanese fans

she is my sweet,

sweet delight

skimming toys

from the rosy broth

in her little boots

and citron gloves

she emits cries

of horrible neccesity

measuring goodbyes

in teaspoons of hot mustard

i cry.

she taps the floor

while packing her peacock

and button collection

slams the door

and runs.

image and poem copyright browland 2010