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Passing Through a Sleeve
Fingers pursed
as if holding thread
before a needle,
then they push
through the sleeve,
silky and dark
inside, filling
as a pipe fills.
The sound,
a puff only,
a distant rock slide,
and not much dust,
just a hand opens
at the other
end of the sleeve,
a flower,
fingers spread
in pleasure,
then the hand draws
its fingers in again
around a fat modern key,
because the bridal
shower is over
and the goddesses
go for their cars.
The lucky young man
and his brother carry
boxes piled to their heads,
full of silver
that won't be used,
it is so precious
and so will have
a long wait
for others to clean it
from a breakfront,
others who will
pass through
other sleeves
in brief pleasure.
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