By: Yoon Sung

Make my way through the masquerade,
in awe of the allure
around. Resplendent chandeliers
drape down, longing to lure

in the crowd. Men of opulence
glide by, with leather shoes
freshly polished. Ethereal
gowns on the ladies, whose

scents imbue the euphoric air.
Clocks chime—I should be gone.
Just one more hour, that I swear.
The gowned night traipses on.

Ebullient beings whirl and twirl,
inebriates of lust.
Gold and silver trimmed with feathers,
to mask the carnal thirst.

I gape into the cheval glass,
appalled at what awaits:
silver and gold, a splay of feathers—
clinging to my own face.