August 21, 2014

decorum of decadent end...

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec 'Crouching Woman with Red Hair' 1897

When two poets crashed the party

when we first spoke
we looked at each other
as if we had just stolen
something neither of us
knew the other was carrying

we heard noises
rolling cacophonous laughter
and what seemed like
goings on with libations
we had heard them through
the paper thin walls
the cheap hot and sticky
leaky ice buckets we kept
knocking over on the way
to the bathroom through
condensates and quiet places
that could not make us
comfortable without
a landscape of sin and skin

we realized then
we were souls
and always would be
spirit beyond the sate
we met online
coyly engaged until
we braved a face to face
we fucked without a word
for hours

I wondered
did she wonder
were we noisy enough
to turn others on
those lovers we had never chanced
those that had caught our glances
those who might have ventured to guess
just how much abandon
we kept inside us

inside the party
there were crackers
Piper Heidsieck 67
velvet robes
and silk ropes
the sofas looked like bedposts
and no one seemed to notice
we had slipped in
from where the smokers adjourned
and returned from their fancy lighters,
ash and inhalation rituals

she looked at me and said
the place was decorated
as if they were listening
waiting for us to finish
weighing their place
in the stains 
we would leave
on each other
they must have known
beyond this evening
each of our poems
wouldn't need our names


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