Dutch white lace draped over the ivory long table in a seraphic quilting,
A Gawain teacup, embellished with gossamer Eustoma, sat, awaiting,

Diaphanous beads of the chandelier glistened above the lone, ceramic plate in quietude,
A tender marigold light gorged the room, as a sweet ambrosia replaced the solitude,

The Lush curtains lapped, picking up dusks gentle zephyr from behind me,
Opened oak and a soft wheeling dusting away my momentary reverie.

Trays of glimmering cloches, were carefully escorted into the room,
All adorned with silken pink ribbons, delicate as spring bloom.

I pulled out the cotton sewn chair, settling atop its the feathered doily pillow,
And rested upon the cushion, the double doors shut with a slam and a billow.

Before me, sat one of the decorated cloches, sliver like a frozen over nebulous,
I removed the reflective veil with the careful touch of folding an origami pond lotus.

Painted over in a mellow coddle of buttercream, was a layered strawberry cake,
Smiling flash at the saccharine smell, I cut into it, only to hear a trickling sibilance like a snake,

Once warm light had begun to frantically holler and splash around the room in a bleary dim haze,
Like a lagoon's catharsis, the chandelier rung out and submerged the dining hall in a flickering glaze,

During the jolting flashes, I raise the fork to my lips,
The cutlery quivering slightly under the padding of my fingertips,

Cradled by my tongue, the sponge decompounded bitterly in my jaw,
I couldn't place it, but it just tasted so overwhelmingly metallic and raw,

Shadows and honey glows, rebounding, back and fourth, playing like hungry hounds,
Staining the walls like crushed stars, over and over like a vehement clever without bounds,

As the night fed, and the chandelier flickered, I kept gulfing coppery forkfuls of food,
Sludge in my throat, wet and warm liquid slathered my gums, thickened and crude,

The rhythmic pulsing of the room, betrothed to the flavour swelling inside me,
It's taste fossilised between my gums, still, I parted my lips, welcoming it, voluntarily,

I don't know how long had passed, but the lights convulsions ceased,
Leaving the ripe gleam of the chandelier quiet and leashed,

Now before me, I could see the latter of my impulsive, gluttonous panic,
Sprawled like a burning body, a bloodied matter of fondant was slumped over the ceramic,

Like a gored lambs underbelly the feast was rich with innards and breathing with blackened bile,
Trickling down, wallowing on my chin was a stewed crimson trail, dying a patchy smile,

So I just sat there, a cup spilled at my side, spewing a tristful poison,
In quiet reflection, just me, me and the vestige of what I have done.