An island lodged in your left eye. I can hear them in the next room; they’re in a hurry this time. Lacing up silk boots. Arms move like cats, perfect wooden like an icon— sinewy birdbones and flat skinned grip. Roaring drunk cackles and the nightingale whistles. Nude bodies noises hollow gray blisters of nervous thinking— boats melodramatically hung like jewelry antique sighing undereye. Mouth of archways, angles, and photographs. Cotton teeth, scratching off-white fingernails, two minutes from one a.m.—clock hands— The crossing of her arms across her animal body. This picture of you, I keep it uneasily in my stomach.