your disapointment
i'm speaking in a language of kisses,
and all 88 keys applaud me.
i'm walking the tightrope and
66 hands are waiting to catch me.
they're watching every move
waiting for tears or
screams,
noting moves or breathes.
a mouth of soft french sounds
a ribcage laced with her hands
the mirror on the wall wishing it could
taste.
sparkling in the small of her back
sweat that comes in the middle of the night
and lingers until morning.
there is a choir moaning against the wind that
finds her, a ringing that cascades down upon her
and begs her to fall.
the rope tingles beneath her
and she smiles, looking him dead in the eyes, before she arches her
back, and dives to the ground.
and all 88 keys applaud me.
i'm walking the tightrope and
66 hands are waiting to catch me.
they're watching every move
waiting for tears or
screams,
noting moves or breathes.
a mouth of soft french sounds
a ribcage laced with her hands
the mirror on the wall wishing it could
taste.
sparkling in the small of her back
sweat that comes in the middle of the night
and lingers until morning.
there is a choir moaning against the wind that
finds her, a ringing that cascades down upon her
and begs her to fall.
the rope tingles beneath her
and she smiles, looking him dead in the eyes, before she arches her
back, and dives to the ground.