Pulling Shades

I am always told,
I look "good,"
In red,
The walls are gold,
As songbirds awaken,
Auburn as they exhaust,
Themselves with each other,
My infidelities transpire,
Within cavernous echoes of,
The Earths committed pirouette,
A world sized orb,
Of steam flood light,
Settled upon,
My Velcro brothel,
Of give and take,
Idle dust digits,
Carnivorous fingers,
Sever themselves,
Root weave indistinctly,
From my caution,
Stumble their heavy traipse,
Among telephone wire trough,
Confused tangle imposed upon,
Smooth duck quill branch,
Cord of your spine,
Sting salt splash,
Of lazy pond water cool,
Captured in halted stratosphere,
Against tea kettle hot,
Regenerated beneath,
Moth wing linens,
The hiding basement dark,
Growing static weeds,
Through the oiled lilt,
Gothic cathedral flicker,
Of stained glass lamp shade,
I seek the taught spring,
Cages of Ovid,
Harbored,
Between rolling vertebrae crest,
To be drawn like butter,
Spasmed toward lava flow palms,
Pulsed in an artery of starlight,
Shaped by suns conceited stretch,
Then silk strand falling.