Berlin #2

The yellow light burns
the colors off of your lips,
the railway station, a vertigo
at the foot of our secular steeple

I envelope your grin,
the negative marching orders
back into their skin

Pictures of your head
in prolongated positions,
your hair on the rack, attached
underneath the lengthened fingernails,
in the extended darkness,
on the catwalks whence
I bought you that dress