Peacock Feather
You might just say it’s only maleness ramped
Up fret-like, gold and turquoise blue, each fret
Of thousands, iridescent maleness, vamped
Up frilliness, masculinity jet
Propelled in delicacy. Don’t ignore
That other color in the eyes, that smooth
Mauve shifting, almost orange taupe, or more
A hue that doesn’t have a name, that wants to soothe
Its way to unpredictability
Despite the simplifying dykes. It wants
No bluntness, no; no bland docility.
Its delicacies come from vivid haunts.
The maleness comes with softness edged with black
Black edge on purple pupil, boldly slack.