The banquet hall.
Gold and silver, mirrored platters
Knives struck through bodies of sculpted butter
Men in tuxedos on eastern thrones
Women in white slips
And backs ablaze with sunset -
Territory wild, and as of yet,
Unconquered.
A sly palm up my skirt.
Perfume of nausea, of quickened heart,
Burning on my neck and wrists.
He is clean-shaven and bright blue-eyed
And he has a hearty laugh.
He tells the same tale twice,
With embellishments of drooling dogs -
The dukes's very own -
Triumphantly trapping daft young doe.
She was elusive, yes she was, he said,
And lacked the spirit of the hunt -
But he sure got her in the end.
They pound and roar,
All stubble, fists, and broken bricks
And I see alleyways in their eyes,
Dim with darkness.
I stand and excuse myself
And go to the wash.
When I gaze upon my face,
It is dampened and pale, and
I see myself alone in the night
In a maze of alleys, running.
YOU ARE READING
These Hazy Days
PoetryA collection of poetry for the summer and autumn days. cover by me, on canva.com all rights reserved. ...
