To all the women I have hated before,

your names all begin the same.

And in the drawing room she often waits, velourian solitude and arresting silence.

J. Alfred Prufrock would have himself sinking.

Whether the Grecian harlot or the Russian poet,

your names all begin the same.

It is not that she has many suitors, although I'll give this a sidelong glance.

It is that her charms are much like a cancer - mutable long past their expiration.