She dealt her pretty words like blades
to strike
the gut, the temple
the tender spot
above the collar bone
with a force
that left you aching
for more.

She wore her pretty smile like pearls
sensuously about her neck
and dangling from her ears.
There was no knowing
their smoothness
in your own fingers.

She kept her thoughts on shelves
like porcelain from Spain
and glass perfume bottles from Egypt–
out of reach–
for you to prove
you are adroit enough
to feel their weight
in your hands
and not let them fall.

December 2011