I got high in Austrian castles where
the smoke from aristocratic lips
filled my head with fancy things.
The castle is cold but the
fire from my fingertips trail
smoke that follows me to
stone walls with tapered tapestries,
paintings piled in leaning stacks,
boxed romances in rooms.
And in daylight
her centre fountain is
an empty mirror looking in.
I got high in Austrian castles
where aristocrats and star-suited
men smoked and played games.