Gathered round the table
The first of the ladies
Tipped over her wine
It stained the white cloth
And dripped slowly,
Till it poured a pool of colour
With a steady beat of sound,
Inaudible, as backdrop to their voice.
Fattened on a diet of falsehoods
They shouted and screamed
Flared delicate nostrils and laughed
As they gorged themselves again and again,
On rumours; malicious evils
Till the fat of lies dripped over painted nails
Ran through their fingers
Down interesting pale limbs
And silently echoed the sound of red wine
thelibraryrooms 