He asked me what I'm made of--
the geisha girl
so far from home.
I answered:
Egyptian musk and
lavendar soap,
lace handkerchiefs
and mangled hope.
He commented on my literary art
and I admitted to a one-night-stand
with meter--
who promptly left while I
was still sleeping.
He plucked the ornaments out of my hair,
claiming they were too ostentacious--
even for an asian prostitute.
Plus--he said--
the bombs falling on the city
below the hill at our feet
were enough fireworks
he said that they didn't need the assisting
glimmer of my hair decorations.