Poems

Wine on the Curtain

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.

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