Way Beyond My Reach

They are delicate as the spider's web, and just as troublesome.
Though forthwith and brave, they are as tender as your skin,
moving to the weight of my fingers as I embellish
you with mine own lines; and,
consequentially, my words.
Though they move and they break apart, they
lack a certain luster that only the sun can
give something like the water -- an aliveness
lit up and waving as waves do weave
through the wading water.
I do not want to use words, lest they be stricken
with gravity and collapse under themselves like
lungs unable to strain longer -- or they ricochet and
in frenzy they are lost, devoid of
direction or meaning -- and,
consequentially, meaning nothing.
I do not want to recite to you songs that have been already sung,
lyrics that have already been played, music, poems,
stories told, actions been acted, scenes been seen,
lies that have been laid as heavy a burden on you
as I ever would wish you endure.
I am at a crossed road, and stand I here at this section
inspired but unmoved, impassioned but not spurred,
empowered, not charging, not seizing, not open nor awake.
Were you to simply request that I love you,
I would give,
wordlessly, and delicately.

The paintings in the ballroom swinging slowly;
rock, and rolling, to the music on the dance floor.
Serenade me, I know you can—
you don’t want to.
All the things you’d say you’ll do get washed off in the sound:
the shivering heartbeat coming at us, coming down hard.
Send your post cards.
Cloud Nine’s amazing!
Love, hugs, and kisses!
Hold it—
this is your song—
a dream rapt with melody, wrapped in fake plastic delicacy,
hour-in-the-bathroom hair, cigarettes and throwing up;
bedroom promotions, black light addiction,
red light transgression.
Everything around you caught up in the blur—
not knowing where you misplaced your ruby slippers
could be a problem;
and not knowing where the hand belongs,
holding back your hair so you don’t get it caught in your mouth
(he’s got you choking on enough of your
“just-this-once” already)
could be a problem.
And the door steady opens, and here she comes!—
grace me with long strides, strapless sequins—
reapplying your ruby reds.
Click those heels, baby:
this party’s a drag.
The music's set to repeat.