Domestic Vogue

We are delicate fainting women shrouded
in autumn silk, hiding long black
tentacles that pulverize
the eyes that are so enamored by
the cloth, falling like leaves-- swish,
swish, to the hard wood floor.

You're pulling wings off butterflies
for science and for fun; a sadistic
experiment to scrutinize the naked torsos
as they whither and die-- a pile
of golden yellow and speckled auburn
red, kicked into the corner.