Gert Fröbe. Fingers walking up her thigh
leave silver prints of perspiration, paws
that track his intention. With a hot sigh
her vulva opens for his gilded claw's
inspection. A knuckle duster of rings.
From the gramophone Shirley Bassey sings.
He has the midas touch. Shirley Eaton,
stretched and painted on virgin hotel sheets,
glisters in his afterglow. Half-eaten
plates of oysters, caviar and cold meats
glitter on the nightstand. His vapour clings.
A sparkling cloud of bourbon burns and stings.
From the gramophone Shirley Bassey sings.
From the gramophone Shirley Bassey sings.
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