I See Everything

With each tine, I have plucked the trinity of you.
Heart, mind, life - I have dug at your wildness,
uprooted the plagues of desire. A puritan life
does not flourish in wildflower meadows,
is not Godly, not seemly, of no proper use.
With the eyes in the back of my head, I see you,
droop lines round the killed blush of your tight mouth.
You look at yourself in the lenses, vain as Cassiopeia,
mourning the time when your hair spilled down
your spine like sin, I bet. I feel you, hating me
behind my back, much good may it do you.
Later we will talk about the lace you have put
at the upstairs window. Inside the pinched slit
of my lip-less trap, I am grinding my teeth to dust.
I will cure you yet, woman. That loose curl, making
a serpent behind your ear - I know you are taking
pleasure from its touching of your neck.