a performance for ghosts

undressed, water rushes, the soapy lather, the lather into the curves, the water, the river into the crevices, and the prick of the bubbles popping, the eyes they follow, your eyes they close, enjoying those eyes that follow everything that is yours.
too well, so scented in the honeysuckle creams, so nice, very nice, the skin glistens so clean. clean sheets, clean clothes, the day opens its curtains, those eyes that follow close themselves away from you. your eyes don’t sorrow and see those other eyes waving a goodbye, a good show a very good show, you are never shy.
open books, crumpled paper, pens and pencils too. lavender creeps in the corner, the sage rises in smoke. everything you are, records you keep but those eyes only want your show, this and that, those winding rhythms you learned just for show. deeply in your heart you wait and wait. for a pair of eyes that see you in every other way.
your woman isn’t a soirée, she’s a fleshed out half god, waiting, always waiting, for a love that never arrives.

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