Sky Brocade

She wears finely pencilled silk lacery,
I am on emerald philipino greens;
Sound velvety sights divide our virtualities,
Anchor our bodies with flimsy perspex veils.
A shade of blues and whites,
Beneath us, above us,
Revolves in a star-shaped background brocade,
A pale hue of sea and blasphemous sun.
Wine spills on metallic, gravity possessed floors,
Eats away magnetic flux of dreams,

and,
as night terminates in a cluster of city lights,
Bright orange yellow mushrooms billow,
Sparkling death, scattering purple rain clouds,
Across an empty low mid-western sky.