A Poem For Isabelle Huppert

A cerebral appeal, ignorance holds back the grave,
With rude permission, a cold look in audition,
Not from anything discrete but mysterious disguise,
Your English on the side the French frankly denies.
I welcome your lips in doses, the beautiful envelopes,
That trains each minute upon the camisole folds,
And pointing to each fashionable relationship,
From blouse to trousers, a bold daring which holds,
And art, excessive femininity is no costume designer,
A master tomboy to embarrass the American gossip,
I saw flowers of evil are dispersed commonly enough,
A constant star that links amorous stars to the bluff?
Ha! Any rank demand for a chignon worn too tight,
Is our production of beauty who killed off the night.