[A]
All that labor becomes
A soft flapping in the breeze.

She works with silk.
She works into the nights,
Her needle dipping and rising
Between the folds, her eyes
Finding tracks of flowers
Hidden in the wash
Of crimson.
Isn’t this what happens
Too, when a man and a woman
Lie down together in a quiet room,
This discovery and exposure
Of what one suspected was there,
Hidden behind the curtain,
Silence behind quick breathing?
[B]
Make love as the full moon
Shines or go to
Hell.
The fiend will grind
Your bones
Into pigments for death.
The man with the scythe
Will strike.
Unfold the fan
With you face
Painted on it.
Reach for the gun hidden
In the lake with an yellow
Boat, covered with blood of
Slaughter.
Study the bones,
Study how mucles
Move, study your
Dreams for the face of that
Woman you have been waiting
For all these years at Cafe
Primrose.

Notes: This poem was written after watching a visually rich, but really odd movie about a Japanese painter-poet, Takehisa Yumeji, called "Yumeji". I have used lines Yumeji keeps chanting in the course of the movie, and borrowed the title from his supposedly most famous poem, 'The Evening Primrose' (Yoi-machi-gusa):

waiting for the person who did not come the primrose is disconsolate this evening the moon too will not come.