The end times were beautiful
and frivolous.
There was a party

filled with everyone
I ever loved and wanted
to sleep with, and all night

our hands glittered
with martini glasses
and McQueen draped

our bodies as saints’ shrouds.
Who could have doubted
the Lord’s plenty?

This was after all the age we fell
in love with things.
Even nature seemed subsumed by us,

changed as we wanted to be
changed: made quick
and bright and wanted.

Perhaps, Chanel was right—
Before you leave the house, look
in the mirror and take one thing off—

about the soul too. All I wanted
was to leave my body
in someone’s hands like a black, silk shirt.