I’m living in one half of a waltz;
battered soles wipe the dusty wood;
a floor on which our two flowers once lingered
on which grainy moments remain scattered
between the cracks you left behind.

My hide is ruffled,
as it once was, by your candlelight claws
and my frosty gaze melts
just at the thought of your searing skin
falling onto mine.

A man who takes pride in his modesty
took whiskey with his coffee.

To my dearest sir;

Your beaten, dry hands are no silky cloak
and yet they clung to my quivering shoulders,
bruised and breaking bones;

A silver, rusted ring,
which smelled of bygone perfumes,
hung onto your callous finger
and cleaved my spine to shards.

Your words painted with gold,
stung like lead to my skin,
and by the end of it, it was I who sang to you
a grateful lullaby.

He waltzed with me
across a dusty circle of earth,
stumbling, falling—
into yellow eyes;
Manes interlocking
like threads on a tapestry.

He loved me under lantern-light,
held me in the spotlight,
his whip becomes my holy necklace,
his snarl became a glassy smile—
Oh, how wonderful it was
to’ve been tamed by a beast.