I always skip the last step.
It's a matter of doubt
and defiance.
Disappointment,
which deafeningly rings
down to my imperfect toenails.

Skipping the last step
is a step away
from envy and lust.
It's that gray silk screen
behind my head.

Left foot first-
just like dancing.
But only one step up,
then it's counting by twos.
Coming down, the same
as you do when you're high,
onetwo, onetwo, a delicate prance
MUST be bombed into the thousand pieces,
all because, (though it is also why),
I always skip the last step.