White caviar.

When Octavia had to asked for white caviar 

The psychic was already to late 

To predict the shoes that wouldn’t 

Improve that first view.

whilst staying at eight hundred 

Degrees north of a hot tub on the pier 

When the reply came your dreams 

have been hidden at ambiguous beach 

Where you can watch 

the spy ecking out a living 

Burying silver screen . 

Counting the reasons the goose 

Peeled its feathers and stepped 

In the tin that was Strung for the journey 

Back from the Ebony island blues

To dot these emerald eyes.