Somewhere between empires
a woman with bad teeth
sells me a corsage of violets.
The duchess and I may go dancing in a few hours.
A braided soie de chine strap
hangs down my back like a cut noose.
The accursed fatigue of my body-
draped in ornament-
reads as elegance.
The undead feast on images of passion they cannot feel.
Doom scrolling a news feed,
pop up advertisements promise results:
Finally a Biblical Solution to Weight Loss!
Like a priest-
people that read poetry want confessions,
want me to scream out:
“How I’ve suffered and I couldn’t even tell you for what!”
Our bodies swim in an infinite tango.
Her fluttering lashes align with mine.
“Can beauty save us?”
“It can,” as I kiss her open mouth.
I’ve performed intricate lies to clear old debts,
but I still owe someone something.
