A Poem: Pas De Deux

 December burns sweet
eyes drip honey over

toes unpointed. She presses

pen to paper, no escape
but a star she cannot find.

Forgetful, her feet

are, they wander

far. No breadcrumbs

to lead her back home.

Curtains drape, she bows

to a silent theatre painted
violet. Electricity sparks her

tender body. Velvet illumination,

a guide to virgin land.

Image: @kryziz

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