I am stupidly contented.

Safe in my cloud of fragrance,

Sweet and honeyed as a newborn.

Breasts milk heavy, I ripen

To your touch. My cheeks

Autumn apples, tight flush

Rush with our passion.

I collect admiring glances.

See! How I play to the crowd

Your star, so stupid and bovine

So easily placated, your pale

And vacant wife. The soul's

Under-pinnings, the thin strings

Silver-pinned, sky-eyed am i.

Yet like a cat, I would eat

My young to feed the few.

Always I am pragmatic.

Life is but arithmetic and choice.