All day she plays at chess with the bones of the world: br Favored (while suddenly the rains begin br Beyond the window) she lies on cushions curled br And nibbles an occasional bonbon of sin. br br Prim, pink-breasted, feminine, she nurses br Chocolate fancies in rose-papered rooms br Where polished higboys whisper creaking curses br And hothouse roses shed immortal blooms. br br The garnets on her fingers twinkle quick br And blood reflects across the manuscript; br She muses on the odor, sweet and sick, br Of festering gardenias in a crypt, br br And lost in subtle metaphor, retreats br From gray child faces crying in the streets.