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Mar 13
Waltzing through roped sections,
Fleurs de lis dancing in luxury Axminster.
I'm bare foot (no black shoes).
I can feel pearls warmed by my skin
the ***** barrel clasp already caught
my hair longer, the curtains drawn.

The heat of flood lights wafting door
Upstage left blinking open and closed.
An eye in this dark room regarding
Apron large enough to cater in parts,
or as a whole to Descartes, Luther, Walther
(I trip over the Latin, even in dreams
My tongue fat and regretfully English).
Who else has sat before your stage?
Me - up nights waiting for the lights to dim.
Your understudy tenderly exploring
High german, cheap shock value,
the God ****** quantity of it all.

The minutes on the wall wrong
as the aisle lights and fire exit signs
flash on but you never come onstage.

That door swings wide eyed.
I watch you bent at a table?
A light biting out your silhouettes.
A skull sits proscenium.

Your hands shucking oysters
Pearls slip the same way the knife slips.

The clock reads different again
Still we sit and watch you repeat
the task but you never bleed.
Too deft with that blade
(You know what they say about a death
in the first).
The stage lights distance you from me
My throat itches for liqueur.
I cannot seem to look away so I close my eyes
the lights go out.

I find myself alone in bed,  oddly sober.
Willing the dark to turn me over
so I can dream some more of
the Cartesian theatre.
I wait on that curtain the way lovers wait.
Harriet Maguire
Written by
Harriet Maguire  England
     Fawn, ---, tonylongo and M-E
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