Sated

Let me stumble and reel
through a long winter's revels,
those cunning gifts of night
that dally in my flesh
and burn my senses
like heavy porcelain gods
ablaze and ravishing the air.

Let me feast on perfumed skin,
arms and legs without a name,
grown lush across the cushions
under a canopy of wanton smoke,
and wash my dissolute hands
in wine made bittersweet
with no hope of redemption.

And I will take my refuge
in the excess of her lips
and this world gone melting
and wasted like a trollop's kiss,
if only to have once pretended
beauty was my willing slave
and one taste left me sated.