Callousness of casualty grinds the delicate

lunge and foil 

of articulation into fine, fragrant powders

which once resembled some pinnacle of grace— an ivory glove,

An exquisite embrace 

 

The cold marble floors echo warmed whispers

and swallow champagne spilled for sacrifice 

in shining pools like a looking glass 

to be lapped up by swaying silks and satins 

making a mockery in dance

of peering velvet portière, 

sobered by jealousy; dutiful and still  

 

Sweet balsams burn, resinous death

muddies the air 

thick with the gouache of pillowy breath 

traded imperviously by lungs who might otherwise mire 

 

It is here that forbidden glances and advances keep 

While ascetic appetites elsewhere creep,

possessing glutted bliss only in dreams—

The lonely sinners of night feign sleep