Sheets and twilight.

And wine on the curtains.

 

What happened? What time is it? 

 

A decomposed vapour

stains the lips of the glasses.

 

This is a hirsute drift of time,

a rod

of ascetism

in a treaty on debauchery.

 

And wine on the curtains.

 

And misplaced shoes

at the foot of the bed, 

and the dashed desire

for a franciscan life.

 

The dry mouth, the vague glance

Preside over the misery of this buffeted

Body.

 

And wine on the curtains.