12:54 a.m.
monday morn —
bedroom parlour
***
"just try."
i'll try.
i took his hand,
and he pulled me to
the wilderness of
a foreign art i used
to master.
dance.
a classic waltz yet my
barefoot feet were
already in pain. we slowly
sashayed to the music of
silence and echoing howls
of the wind. my gray one's
clashed his brown eyes.
they were pleading
me to trust him. i do.
what i did not was
myself. something
flickered in his eyes.
it was the world he
promised. but what
i could only roam
was the memory of
the monster who
shattered my legs.
i danced with him in
the space of my room —
the moonlight was our
spotlight but all i could
feel were splinters. i
walked on splinters
that bore imaginary
scars on my soles.
pain was all i felt.
so i let go and left
my dancing partner
in the spotlight.
something i would
have never done if
i was still myself
during my yore.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Şiir"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
