Bel Canto Poem by Bernard Henrie

A Florentine portico almost hides
an entrance bell for visitors.

My gentleman unstraps his watch,
a hard, metal sound as it falls
on the night stand. He brings red
shoes, dark sotto voce monologue;
I open my gown, the breasts full
as gladiola.

I pose naked on the chaise lounge,
he stares at the Andalusian flower
between my legs.

I serve coffee in my Atelier.
He taps the cup, I take the spoon.
No reason to hurry, the waiting
room empty except for the upside
down cockatoo.

The dinner bell. We are glum.
Five rainy days, a smoky fireplace

Everyone asleep. Phantoms pass
along the stairways.

A locked silver razor by the bath.
The wind dies off. The night,
closer now, a shapeless, delicate
animal in shallow water.