A stripping puppet (re-write)

[tectak]

On Friday nights the sherbet
centres make you fizz.
Saturday wakes wafer thin,
silver foil inside your filling.
Sunday hides your traffic light eyes
and I will bathe you in a dripping tap,
cleansing now has deeper purpose,
a faded duck floats on the surface.

Thinner than the dress that used to fit
you make up to leave again
falling into town a burned out clown
hanging round some young man’s
left begging by the kebab van.
Like that the city turns its back,
a fumbled custard pie has splat
the pavement echoes as it laughs.

Groped smears and muddy nylons
bumper car through our door.
Your headlights shine behind me,
bereaved by the moment once more.
Changing shades of back lit screens,
shape shift you on soft cushions,
and there I blanket my shame.
I sit cold as Monday comes,
but I’ll still love you just the same.

Hi keith,
I am not tempted to do a line by line on this...not because there are no problems but because what problems I see would be eradicated by more clarity of intent.
In fact, and I find this less often than I used to, it is an intent LINE BY LINE that I need.
Perhaps this reader is tired...or lazy...but I get decreasing pleasure from untangling words in order to get to the message...and I find this more irritating when I sense that there IS a message.(not always the case).
You string together some fine imagery but the glue that binds it all together is sticking to everything and causing an unholy tangle. Sorry, but your love for words is not enough here. Help me.

Like that the city turns its back, a fumbled custard pie has splat the pavement echoes as it laughs.....I mean, really?

Best,
tectak