babylon

it could have been
babylon
and I was in
captivity.
the door at place theroux
was sickly green
and iron
under a portico arrayed
in paper lanterns
and verdant gardens.
I knocked and
it opened itself,
into a white foyer
and a white hall
where a dwarven mime
carried a tray of cocktails.
I lit up.
all the cigarettes
in the salon
looked like fireflies from here.
I went down the marble hall
under the eyes of old kings
borne in oils and pastel.
the drawing room
was thick with butane and cologne
and the great whiteness
had embraced the black night.
in the center
was a great chaise longue
louis quatorze,
with golden bees on velvet.
they were drinking here
and there was the sound
of a bosendorfer piano.
I loosened my paisley tie
and asked the greying tapster
for a ramos gin fizz.
he used a raw egg,
as those elder in the trade often do.
I took a slug and went
back into the salon
saw her in a dress of chinese blue
her hair was shiny and close,
like the down of a bird
and very châtain.
bonjour.
bonjour, monsieur.
is this your first time here?
yes.
words became elusive.
there are a lot of people here.
yes, there are.
she was half-french and she spoke a little.
her perfume had head notes of bergamot,
and her teeth
very white, with sharp canines.
how old are you?
twenty-two.
so am I.
and what sign?
scorpio.
all my lovers are scorpio...
she had a lot of eyeliner on.
it suited her.
listen, I have to talk to someone.
alright.
wait right here.
I took another drink.
I didn't wait.
they were playing basset
in the dining room
with a deck of russian cards.
everyone in pinstripes,
I put my money down
played recklessly
lost.
the gin fizz doing its work.
I didn't want to love her
it was too much like fate.
she came into the room
dragged me out of the chair
by the wrinkled arm of a winchester shirt
left my francs on the table to molder
and scolded me for fleeing.
I don't like the dogfights
the logistics
the manoeuvres
that's what I told her
in the hall
I told her I had cut off
my captain's gold braid
I'd burned my stripes
I didn't fight wars anymore.
and I spat
between my second glass
something about helen of troy.
she wasn't a very good listener.
she stole a pomengranate
that bled across her lips
as we walked alone
through the vacant seraglio.
she smoked a blonde gitane,
and I a caporal gauloise
jeunesse doree
in our vile bodies.
her sphinx eyes were sinister
and her voice false
she, the sacred prostitute
just standing there
looking at me.
I hated her enough
to rake my glass
across her paper white skin
cursed her family name
I didn't, just stood
and stared back
while in the salon
the band played autumn leaves.
the couples were sipping beaujolais
sweating under ascot collars, the men wondered
about anthony eden, algiers
the suez canal, guns on the nile
the star of david
and the old grandee, whose son
had died at mers-el-kebir
he mourned the end of the imperial century.
and I lounged with Ishtar
and her young flesh
for sure this was babylon,
and antarctica was close.
in the salon
her face had grown much whiter now,
and her cigarette had made her cold
I took her outside
to the balcony
where the ivory and dew
shimmered in the moonlight
she wrapped me up in her arms
heavy with mink
she bit at the lily on my blue vest
I confessed I didn't love her
and she called me a liar.
take me inside,
I want to lie down.
and so she followed
through the sleeping remnants
of the adulterous nouveau riche.
and the naked hour of cinq a sept
to a boudoir undisturbed
and the blue wallpaper of the fourth empire.
more bees on a blue bed
columns of moorish wood.
she took off her sable coat
and sat on the edge,
her mandarin collar was now undone.
humming stardust
I searched the drawers for
the poison of rich men.
soon it would be dawn
and tasting whiskey, I thought
after this, I could make it myself
take a train
without the newspapers
without the roulettes
do it alone.
I felt her breath on my neck
it was cold, and her lips
crimson with pomengranate
this time alone, this time
caressing her thigh under
the singapore satin
she told me she was going back
to poland.
that was alright, I thought
as we fell back, sliding on the silk
people always bored me anyway.