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 Pocket watch, I tick well.
The streets are lizardly crevices Sheer-sided, with holes where to hide.
It is best to meet in a cul-de-sac, A palace of velvet With windows of mirrors.
There one is safe, There are no family photographs, No rings through the nose, no cries.
Bright fish hooks, the smiles of women Gulp at my bulk And I, in my snazzy blacks, Mill a litter of breasts like jellyfish.
To nourish The cellos of moans I eat eggs -- Eggs and fish, the essentials, The aphrodisiac squid.
My mouth sags, The mouth of Christ When my engine reaches the end of it.
The tattle of my Gold joints, my way of turning Bitches to ripples of silver Rolls out a carpet, a hush.
And there is no end, no end of it.
I shall never grow old.
New oysters Shriek in the sea and I Glitter like Fontainebleu Gratified, All the fall of water an eye Over whose pool I tenderly Lean and see me.

Poem by Sylvia Plath
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