Ripped curtains,
angry clowns
a bottle of absinthe
on the table stands
' that stuff rots your brain'
he says & she smiles
& pours herself a little
the angry clowns
try in vain to mend the curtains
he knocks over
the bottle of absinthe
& she raises an eyebrow,
fixes her garter
outside, the cardboard moon
plays with the dark,
they kiss,
a youthful painter paints them
having paid
for his latest brush
as usual
with *** & lies
a white lily in a vase
looks on
silently