Painting the Walls in the Purple, Red, and Gold Tones of a Gilded Womb

(written for Le Fay's "natural poems, from and for the senses" competition)

for Elizabeth Bruno

After the breakdown, she tries to be Theda Bara,
lines her eyes in Casati-black kohl and swoons
on the scarlet chaise lounge. Thinks she can
catch a man with a white Sevres bowl, some pink
Rainier cherries, and a silver baby spoon.
She wants the world shaped like a throat
so she can swallow it whole. Hangs dozens
of polaroids, fires up the Victrola and prowls
the house (the den of a sultana) in an indigo
lace negligee, blue-black as a crow, peacock
feathers catching in the flames
of her corona hair. A golden concoction
of Godiva chocolates and Ciroc melts
the regret from her tongue. She paints
her mouth a metallic copper and carries
a charge, collects carafes and coffee urns,
orders antique wrought iron bedposts
and throws out everything without a story.
She knows light falls by seven p.m.,
can attest by frantic violet scribblings
in the creamy vellum of an Oriental paper
mâché journal to the severity of how it fails.