For Narcissa, who knows who she is

for narcissa, who knows who she is

even as you say
I must go home you
wonder why

there is a
turned down bed
and a chocolate
to say goodnight

for one less star
a made up bed
and no chocolate

only a minibar
with the sound of bees
in a stump

no trouser press thank god

each padded cell
empty
of narcissa who

does not leave the bar
casually but with
roses aforethought
and the mandatory

soft toy

bought to the band's
last number
in the grey lobby