poetry

Dance of the Night 

Every night she rehearsed with him In a dim lit

In a dim lit studio,

Enclosed with mirror walls,

He held her by her waist

And her hand

She placed her delicate

Bruised arms on his shoulder

He looked at her

And she at him

She saw herself

Her battered bleeding lips

And her swollen eyes

Tightened her clasp

And they both spun

As in a ballet across the room

She was the piano, he the violin

Made symphony as they moved

Light as a feather

Their feet moved on the floor

 

His face as bright as the morning sun

Lighting her face as he looked

He stormed in closer

And move away in an instant

Closer and away

Close and far far away

And close again

Moving his fingers on her delicate lips

As his precursor to moving his face

Moving it closer to hers

At a distance that only a feather

Could cross

 

He tightened his hold

Spun her around,

Sometimes gentle sometimes harsh

Sometimes crass, and brash

He smiled,

That smile, a caution, of a

Lift to the skies and sudden fall

Losing all control

As she lost herself

He laughed as he

Picked her up and tossed her

And held her as she fell

She held her hand on his chest

As he held her close

Didn’t skip a step

But missed every heartbeat

 

His heart danced

Hers was numb

As if it was a race to the finish line

 

They danced every night,

As an audience of

A million stars watched

As they moved

Faster and slow

Away yet close

In circles and in piano tiles

Through waltz and ballet

 

And as the night died

All that remained was her and

Him, his ghost

And her battered self

He turned into stardust at every sunrise

And she burned in the ashes of the sparks

That claimed his life

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