I've built a shrine for an imagined body.
A string of photo-images
twenty-four frames per second.
Sensual, revealing.
I want to sink my teeth into her left hip
I want to know where the stars reside
Whole constellations swirling inside.
A rebel star shooting, rioting, appears in her eye
then fades to the edge -- out of sight.
There is a partition of black lace she hides behind.
I am eager witness to her silhouette and shadow show.
Hands and arms. Wild.
Smashing molecules.
Eyes slow to move. Pupils dilating.
Voice calling to the spirits
Incantations to silence
the noise of the city
She's the witness bared --
shattering diamonds between her teeth.
I am the hallucination
that walks on ghost feet
Pure things are what move through
grasping fingers.
Undress, swim in butterflies,
dance on the edge of the invisible.
Those nights with her, now like ash in the mouth.
Sleights of hand, mystical tricks.
Seduction.
Honey the flesh, fate the enemy.
We'll continue being who we'll be
in this city of postcard misconceptions.
I'll hang photos of her
from the branches of trees
once they're bare.
