I once spun a woman,
threading tendons to gold.
I soldered each strand of sinew
over a shining wickerwork of bronze bone;
wired her with veins of copper,
stitched a slim skin of mercury over her,
and slotted blinding eyes of silver
into the hollow crock of her skull.
When she was perfect, solid and still,
I slipped the damp poultice of my tongue
across her cold steel-clamped lips,
over the smooth grooves of her breasts,
down to the metallic between
her iron-gartered hips.
But I was foolish, hasty;
only when she bit and burned against my touch
I recalled the laws of chemistry:
She was bubbling, boiling, melt-
out of the oil-silver camisole
of her skin.
I saw the waves of electricity,
the red-sweat of heat through her body,
as she danced in blood-
coloured gloves and stockings,
ligaments tight prawn-pink and white
curled on joints, barely covering
bones, whole, milk-melded and nimble
She glistened crimson-gossamered,
as a meat counter,
organs draped around her,
each a pealed peach, pulsing like a vulva.
She told me everything in juicy,
carmine silence, her eyes seductive
and wide, as she sucked in her gunmetal tongue
leaving me cold, conducted.