The dancer
and the piano,
My fingers on the keys
her legs
scissoring
across polished wooden flooring,
click clack of stabbing, rhythmic heels
reflection up her body:
the once youthful legs,
spinning skirt
blood red dress,
bare arms spread wide
supporting stony face,
dark hair pulled tight
she pivots, struts, strides
to the beat I try to pull back, but…
fingers keying, hammering
strings one by one, faster
slower
(it ain’t my beat at all, after all)
driven by the click clack,
matching the stride, note to note
at first, her heels and my fingers
explode apart, a door opens
and she tangos out, alone
(as always, and better for it)
into dark streets, her own beat
as I break skin on keys,
smear blood in some desperate sacrifice
banging harder, moaning now, lights flickering out
in this room I love
Writer Moe 