demoiselles d'avignon

[constantine]

In rare moments of lucidity
I truly see them,
beneath the cosmetic overlays
of a thousand songs and fables,
within the whispers of the harem
and the clamor of the hive
so unforgiving, their ancient code
eons before Hammurabi -
the Order of the Hearth,
priestess familial.
transgress? I dare not
for fear of banishment -
the cold, lonely exile...
I go renegade, slyly holding my tongue,
I smile, awaiting her glance of favor -
the open bedroom door,
semi-nude woman
fishnet hose,
trapped like Agamemnon
within the silky, web-like mesh...

sometimes,
in those fleeting pre-dawn moments
I actually wait for the end of pretense,
too tired to know or care about the consequences.
unwilling to dream,
the illusion sheds its giddy warmth
and her face is a broken mirror.

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