A Brothel in Rose Quartz

Feels like sitting in another’s aura —
Pink ectoplasm bubble-stuffed
with ghost girls.

They lounge on velvet furniture
like discarded kimonos, druzy with the sweat
of bugzapper Septembers.

All’s tassles and masquerade among
the magazine’s spinning perfumes.
With not a man in sight,

it is beautiful to be the Madame
of the phantomed and watch heaven
spill from the must-den fans.