If aesthetics would visit violence on men, then
it would be a moral imperative.
If sweetness were just a matter
of enough roushing and appliqué.
If the wrists that the vivisectionist
worked over with scalpel and elastic
in the pattern of vined-growth;
a filigree of one thread crocheted.
A ruffled bodice, and the white
forearms and fingertips.
