Kimono

Don't say you will slip into something
more comfortable while I drink my milk.
Don't return in a Kimono of silk,
red lipped, chopsticks in your hair
and ask me to touch the material,
to feel the quality of the belt;
if my fingers smell the perfume of unraveling
or the stabbing silver hairpins
diving through the curls of shoulders
and one javelins into my glass,
don't stir slowly: it's so over;
I want something stronger
and pinch up my lip
like sushi, for a kiss.
Unzip me
quickly;
for only one bow
loosens the belt of the Kimono.