An Early Fragment for a Ballet
So this was kissing, was flowers, was young men, death,
No fame fast enough to catch her fantastic breath,
Yet flowers, her tissue flowers, met their death
Fearless, and harlequin gallants by an hair’s breath
Took to themselves the avid whores of death,
And nothing was new now but the next breath,
So she died, so her frivolous frolicking death.
Here he had kissed her, here she kissed him once,
And candles, music, bemused questioning friends
Excited like sky rockets, like the once
Wonderful Champagne, and all her fast friends
Faded as his flowers would fade, golden as once
Gold lamps went out to welcome passionate friends:
Here she was worsted, but worsted only once.