Jack Spicer

 

                        Spicer must be there somewhere

One Night Stand

Listen, you silk-hearted bastard, 
I said in the bar last night, 
You wear those dream clothes 
Like a swan out of water. 
Listen, you wool-feathered bastard, 
My name, just for the record, is Leda. 
I can remember pretending 
That your red silk tie is a real heart 
That your raw wool suit is real flesh 
That you could float beside me with a swan’s touch 
Of casual satisfaction. 
But not the swan’s blood. 
Waking tomorrow, I remember only 
Somebody’s feathers and his wrinkled heart 
Draped loosely in my bed.