The purple sheen of ink on an unfinished story

--Dawns violet edges

Elizabeth Taylor's Cleopatra

and the deep purple robes of 

Caesar, Roman indeed of Roman blood,

sweet blood of sanity drained in a bacchanal. 

The bruises the morning after.

With the wilted violets and lavender of Sappho

take the flowers of Ophelia and kiss her frost-bitten lips.

Decadent plums and grapes, not half as sweet.

Fleeting glow of lightning

and ecstatic acid club lights, but only

the Light of Truth shines through a cut amethyst,

icon of calm,

to reveal a fragmented mind.

Clouds of incense clear

and the electricity lowers to a hum.

Asleep in a palpatine velvet,

the edge of violet dusk,

awakening again to the--