Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2005-11-19 01:04:00

Early Night

The job is done,
Escape declared,
A shudder-walk
To half a room full
Of unvoiced fear and

Silent intent,
To the slow clink of melting
Rain somewhere deep in a cup
Of black and murky thought.

The walls have changed
From a home, a comfort
With just that sour edge
Of independence

To something impersonally
Efficient. The screens on the walls
Still are dancing, though
With the songs we know too well.

The movements are still the same, though.
The glances and the little mentions of
Personal humours.
The pairing off is staggered
This is not its renaissance

Not yet

The year is too old for that,
The grass too frosty
And the pains of midwinter
Still uncovered.

Instead there are hints
Too obvious to be seen
Across tiny walls that hold back
So little

Except your hand
Which is colder than the night.

It has been so long
Since I did not feel shame
Or loathing
Fear or pain

At the thought of another below my eye-line.

Watch how I act
The strength and poise and lack
Of shuddering joints.

Watch how I smile,
Dance
Eyes half-closed,
Jostled and badly lit.

Watch how I move
For the exit.

Watch how afraid
Of being this vulnerable
I am.
Of being this responsible.

How torn and red my flesh.
The burn that will not heal,
Here on my hand. Here, where you marked me.

Here on the hand I cannot keep from reaching out with,
The thing which craves so much of them
Which needs so much of their attention still

And has no memory for the end of the dance.