P
Pia
Guest
I was young when my father took me to San Marco to see a man killed.
On marbl'd balcony we stood with friends and smiled
A heavy glass of sweet Marsala placed in my slender hand
Gazing down on wooden boards scarlet-slicked
And trembling touched and felt myself grow moist
The hall stood gilded dark in guttering candlelight
As we drank deep of heavy scented wine
And fingers met in quadrilles, soft glances, rose-wet lips
Before Cupid's mirror gazed at unlaced breasts
With quill and paper trembling hands began to write
Black veil'd sun shaded fairest brow
And cast dark shadows over deep blue eyes
The lion's mouth stood impassive empty stone
As fingers paused once, twice, then slid
Seal'd parchment towards iron chains and ropes and death
On marbl'd balcony we stood with friends and smiled
A heavy glass of sweet Marsala placed in my slender hand
Gazing down on wooden boards scarlet-slicked
And trembling touched and felt myself grow moist
The hall stood gilded dark in guttering candlelight
As we drank deep of heavy scented wine
And fingers met in quadrilles, soft glances, rose-wet lips
Before Cupid's mirror gazed at unlaced breasts
With quill and paper trembling hands began to write
Black veil'd sun shaded fairest brow
And cast dark shadows over deep blue eyes
The lion's mouth stood impassive empty stone
As fingers paused once, twice, then slid
Seal'd parchment towards iron chains and ropes and death