Monday, May 18, 2009

Poem - An Empty Puppet

I hold the supple skin of your middle, firm..
as you dance your firedance,
I lose myself in your circle
and we become as one.
The weaving of my bones to the night,
I wait on the whim of your star
standing in my lone heart shoes.
The colours of your aura
imprinted on my mind.
I dance the steps of the possessed
and I fall down, down.
An empty puppet
loves lost strings tangled and torn

once upon a time there was this girl and she learned to firedance in Cambodia... and well that's that...