cleopatra

i see you lying
on the couch
like cleopatra,
with a snake wrapped
around your long
arm. overflowing
bags from nordstoms
and neiman marcus
are everywhere.
your dark hair
is gleaming
in the late
egyptian light,
your eyes and lips
are black, and wet.
a small boney man
is in the corner
playing the lyre,
while a schoolboy
drops grapes into
your mouth, and fans
you with palm leaves.
and this is what
you do all day
while i go to work
and slave. putting
blocks of granite
on top of one another,
building our future
home, the one we
quietly call a grave.