the patio gardens. the days waning thin as
the frail tissue of the sewing patterns
we never mastered really.
the floraled shirtwaist schemes.
a dab of perfume on its fairytale wrists
let's go inside when our noses are like cherries
where the orange spiced pomanders abide,
the fluffy dog holiday sparkling:
all pom pom tailed, applause meter racing.
and where no ratios undermine
our peppermint dreaming;
where the carefully stenciled posters
winning no prize but