Darling
you may dwell in your castle
your big, empty chamber
you may fill it with diamonds and pearls
you may bathe yourself in the milk of the Gods
and you may rest in the eye of the moon
You may spew riches
and dispose of that opulent and rancid mess
feed it to the peasants
You may greet your subjects in Gold
and kiss your lover in Silver
you may spear down lions for their jaws
and only dance with those in purple
and only sleep with those with silk sheets

Darling
there are no silk sheets in graves
you may lie
and rot
next to the peasant
who ate your week-old
bronze tat
and loved the lion
in the wild
not the jaw on the mantelpiece
and the same green grass will grow above you both
the same roses will spurt from your marble
and their stone
and your bones will both be white and withering
more so than the lion's jaw