Flattery

I heard a woman sing an obtuse song which I couldn’t fathom. The coldness — I could.
Listening yet? She asked, clad in rust and scowl.

The boils on her soul were lighted, the Gorgons of the dank sea shores
laughed and prowled through the loopholes

of my argument to devour the continent
of imbeciles and rogues. Perhaps she’s no angel — who could have known —

my mind so rapt in believing.
Wish you’d love me more often, darling: I implored

and stole her silly heart in a whisper. Which was treachery,
but was condoned.