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A woman in a shop

 
She  sat in a shop that sells jumpers and scarves 
doing some embroidery for a wealthy client who 
wanted his name in big red letters to make it clear
his exalted sanding, but also as a person who 
bought wares made by hand 
When the man who runs a famous site had
gone in a fanfare surrounded by sycophants
she tied on a silk dress of untold value and
we embraced at the foot of hell
 the dress was not for the intended bride
The girl, artis with needles and threads, had 
green eyes as a bottomless sea impossible to 
read in bedroom light or in a shelter waiting 
for the bus to take us heavenward in the sin 
of greedy sex and thorn lips  
Oh, this heavenly day, a haze of dreams
most of them unfulfilled, lacking in the truth
as something partly remembered, a line 
a famous poet wrote, but whatever it was
she stung me with her needles

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