The Fop's Blouse

I will sew myself black trousers from the velvet of my voice. And from three yards of sunset, a yellow blouse. Along the world's main street, along its glossy lanes, I will saunter with the gait of Don Juan, a fop. Let the earth, overripe and placid, cry out: 'You would rape the green Spring!' I'll yell at the sun with an impudent grin 'I prefer to prance on smooth asphalt!' Isn't it because the sky is blue, And the earth is my lover in this spring cleaning, that I give you verses fun as bi-bah-boh and sharp and useful as toothpicks! Women who love my flesh, and you, girl, looking at me like a brother, toss your smiles to me, the poet - and I'll sew them like flowers onto my fop's blouse!