Take away the hinge, its hidden polish.
Take away the orange rind—

I’ll chew it.
No violins, no Bach, no way.

Take away the argument.
You’ll always win.

I’ll always tell myself
I let you.

All the gypsum,
all the kiln-glow of cobalt,

flares against my joy.

Take away the documents.
I’ve seen cream
whipped stiff for a tart.

You know what I mean.

Take away the cheap suits and
heavy tables, polished citrus dark.