Boustrophedon

With increasing pressure on the elegy, the star makes for home splashing water
On the eves. Storming around, making news, if ever sharing the same bed. 
As when someone becomes empress, and is carried away to the old crime,
Much less the neatly typewritten names inscribed inside her left temple; a lit


Cigarette from a new gold case. Since that is exactly what it was, the same bed
Receiving the chaste touches. Considerably higher than politics, and doing her
Best not to sound eager, she fills the room with an odd refracted blue light, lit
Like from within, like the more exclusive bordellos. They will never travel together


Again by calling herself a publisher. The star has a formidable season prepared doing
The marble block of her silence, at the left side of the Madonna's head. Despite
Not knowing enough how they work, she'll buy one of them, with leaking ewers altogether
Done up in plate. Just imagine the one being wooed, and be put off by the cost.


The glittering thing will drop with the rain-washed label. Even if it cost her his 
Avuncular mask were she to become much larger, his muddy shoes make for home 
Overriding what to do about the newspaper or new recipient of the crush. What with costs
Of his keeping, without the fatal pregnancies, thrown bits, he carries away to the old crime.