I am
golden.
I am fleeting fingertips along,
upon,
falling papers
(black ink).
I am hesitation-
so
delicious.
C a n
you feel me in your veins?
I am
furtive messengers
with stealthy feet
the kind we send out to speak for us.
I am
black feathers on hummingbirds' throats
that shine
when touched by lantern lights
and black wings weighed down
by tiny
guilded chains
(handcrafted!).
I
am booming speech
in radiant halls.
I
am the murmur of the lace in the crowd.
I am
high-backed thrones,
decadent windows,
crystalline spires,
black against stormy skies.
I am darkness approaching,
can
you feel me
in
your v e i n s?
I
am the glistening ballroom,
the clear clicks of your shoes,
polished,
on a polished floor.
I am the reflection
of chandeliers, whose candles,
might I add,
burn endlessly,
neither relit nor replaced.
I am teacher
of dark dancers.
I lead them as they prance,
position,
and perfect. I
am every move I make
and every move I have made up
for them to pour upon
their bodies
and pointe shoes.
I am the vivacity
with which your eyes must drink of me
and I
live in your curling lips.
M o n s i e u r !
Can you f e e l me
in
your
veins?
