Between Orange and You

Woman in a Green Jacket, Ernst Ludwig Kirchner

I know your darkness, light and gazing
at a Neel painting, granny porn for an elite
who understand drooping flesh and women,
too, stare out-into my green eyes set upon
by a blue striped chair, 80, you say, my parts
have been hanging since birth, blood slicked
hair, malnourished, not coiffed and glassed,
who does not sit pondering knitting needles
with toes and wrists shaped by pinochle,
by balancing check books, tell us wrinkled
one of the line between orange and you,
how you bobby-pin hair while watching
Murder She Wrote, death, you say, we
dissolve from nothing but sharp, flabby
angles of what, of you? a novel navel?
a future we barely know, come age,
come death, come ego, I wait, laughing.