Dark Feel in Wormwood

Pale green
Cloys sweet to mask
Wormwood bitter
Paris opalescent

***

I came upon old Oscar
Fat and droll and fey
In studied languor, posing
By dark eyed Salomé.

That dancing levantine
With her baptist on a tray
She brushed his lips, “Iokanaan,
Ta bouche, je l’ai baissé.”

Green fog enshrouded Oscar
Rose and sailed away
Leaving just the three of us
With little left to say.

We left John the baptist lolling
Bleeding on his silver tray
And once he was not looking
We caught the night train to Calais.

***

Left hand city
Bittersweet mask
Wormwood soul
Why must you ask?