Hands brush the tears from my cheeks.
Hollow hands with hollow bones
that are supposed to belong to me.
My hands can create works of art
so beautiful that my eyes can’t keep up,
they can play the piano and dance
and run themselves through someone’s hair
when my heart is too afraid to speak.
My hands hold a pen like it’s life support,
they revel in the words flowing from beneath
sharp fingertips, they rejoice in the silence
of those who hear me speak my poetry
the way it’s supposed to be spoken: aloud.
My hands are works of art and yet I feel nothing
when they touch my body. They are cold
and numb and I feel nothing.
It only feels good when they hold sharp objects.
Not to my arm or my throat, just between my fingers.
I enjoy the fear of pain it instils in me.
My hands hold a knife the same way
they hold a pen. It keeps them alive.
The only thing that warms them up
is the danger of blood
pumping through my veins. Naive I may be
but I dance like the seductress
with blood draping itself over my skin
and desire burning behind my eyes.
I know what I want when I look at him,
dancing to the music,
inhaling and exhaling smoke like perfume.
I know what I want when his leg touches mine
and I feel the anger blazing inside me,
the anger blazing bright and wild
that I never want to let go.
I know what it feels like to burn alive
when I see his eyes looking elsewhere
and my hollow hands reach desperately
towards the darkness, reach desperately
towards his hollow face.
I find myself swaying to the music of the shadows,
my hips tracing the ocean’s waves,
my eyes glancing upwards with ****** charm
through lowered eyelashes.
I know what you want when I look you.
I see the lust behind those umber eyes,
it drips from you and you bite your lip
as I approach you.
You bite your lip
as I hold your face in my hands.
You bite your lip
as I allow your arms
to trace the waves with me
until I’m the one biting you.
Biting you so you can’t get away,
so that you’ll never want to,
because the feeling of my teeth on your skin
is one you’ll never forget
or get again. Because no one knows how to use blood
as a weapon or *** as a tool quite like I do.
No one knows how to bite you quite like I do.
I know what you want when you look at me,
you want my hollow hands which come alive
on paper, music, paint, to touch your skin
and taint your soul. You want me
to coat you with oil and destroy
your feathers, to pluck the beak
from your mouth. You want me
to make you human
and trust me, I will.
Just you wait.

All the rays of a summer sunset cascade into the atmosphere in flowing locks, falling onto the shoulders of a sandy beachfront: blinding in its’ fair complexion. Ocean eyes pierce the landscape with their tantalizing aqua gaze. Freckles and marks of sea shells and silky smooth pebbles dot the surface of the porcelain skin shore, bringing a thousand stories of each one’s journey to the surface of the water. A warm breeze glides over the waves, creating a sing-song lullaby that lilts into a bold melody. As it rolls across sea and shore, it comes to the edge of the forest, where it meets the ears of the woodland creatures. Jade green leafy eyes gaze with brazen admiration upon this sunshine goddess, who focuses her gaze, in turn, on the woods. The forest’s dark, luscious locks wrap around the trees and sway in the wind. The cool, shaded, earthy skin teams with freckled flowers and scars of fallen trees. Her breezy laugh rustles with the leaves and calls back to the sea.
I am the forest, deep and dark and full of life.
She is my ocean, bright and warm and teaming with beauty.
She drinks me in with those watery eyes, shining deeper than the stars. Her glowing tresses blind me with their splendor as I bask in their rays. I stretch out a branch and caress her silky skin as she whispers into my soul. A wave of love laps into my thirsty soil, and I shower her with petals and their perfumes. We strain upward, reach out, and entwine. We are dancing. It is a reckless, desperate dance of crashing waves, falling trees, roaring winds and screeching songbirds. Our laughing voices shake the ground into a whirlwind of passionate adventure. Shadows and light beams meld into a tapestry as we glide above the surface of the water, through the treetops and into the stardust... forever hand in hand with my darling, my love, my sunset, my beach.

I stopped.
My feet rested on the cool cement, and I listened.
Every tree, every bush, was whispering.
It started as a murmur, and grew.
Soon it was as if every forest in the world was talking, talking, whispering, whispering.
The voices faded for a moment, but it was not silent, for someone else was speaking.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
The rain was speaking to me.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
No, it was not speaking, it was singing.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Whizz. Drip. Drop. Whizz.
All around me it was swirling and falling and rising again to continue the song.
The trees had joined the song again.
Now it was as if they shouted their song with the rain.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Then, in a moment, the heavens broke open and a downpour of music flooded the earth where I stood.
The music ran.
It danced.
It rushed under my feet and all around me it sang.
I looked down at my feet and saw they were moving.
I looked up and the world swirled around me again and again.
I was dancing.
The rhythm of the music moved me with the waters and I flew with it.
I whirled around and around and around.
My heart flew with the music.
Through the whispering trees, through the rain in the air.
I danced and danced, unashamed and unaware of the world around me.
And then, as quickly as it had started, it began to stop.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Whisper. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop. Drip. Whizz.
Drip. Drop.
Drip. Drop.

Slow. Steady. Rhythmic.
The dull thud beats in time with the sway and cantor of the melody. Glide across the hall, dip down to the banister.
Beat. Beat. Beat.
Even and calm, lost in the frequency, wandering amidst the pitch. Fanciful footwork frames the floor with twisting steps and intricate detail.
Shrouded in fireflies and dandelion dust that drifts on the lazy current of the song, drowsing through notes and harmonies in a trance of ballroom dance.
Rise up.
Build into a waltz of throbbing desire. Whirl in the stars and flit past treetops. Even and clean, again and again and again.
Search the woods with craving eyes and fixate a longing gaze on the shadows of the mountains. The horizon will bleed into the treeline as melancholy keys and jubilant echos bring a cobalt stare reeling round and round the surface of the planet.
Press out each measure with deliberate punctuation.
Step hard, flit away, step firm, pull in, step true, twirl out, step in, dip low.
The march of feet in sync resonating through soul and mind: rhythm, measure, beat.
Soar.
Rush the pace into a frenzied tango. Alight a tender foot on the raindrops and fly into the moonlight as the throbbing repetition drives the dance onward.
Hear the wail of the drums in the atmosphere; they cry out in agony, ever increasing intensity. Pound out the steps over and over, numb to the world.
Bring the reckless mind crashing down upon the orchestra pit. Flood heart and soul with sheets of music dripping with pen strokes of madness and ingenuity.
Heaving, writhing, panting, burning, pounding, crashing, yearning heart be free.
You stop short, gasping for breath, ears peaked by a new sound. Another beat. You swipe the wild strands of hair from your eyes and find yourself a butterfly’s breath away from a brand new heartbeat. His sandpaper skin brushes your fingertips, chocolate eyes melting into your dance. You twirl out, he catches your milky wrist and dips you into his lullaby. Spinning in, two songs forge into one as pounding fades to throbbing. The voice of the lark rises in your throat, a jade sky splits the earth in two, and you fly away. Dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeats.

I'd Dance for you
As the Moon dances
To the melody of your Breaths
Dropped from the Sky
For Caressing your hair
It dances for you all Night,
So would I.

Of all the kinetic ripples
that shimmer across
our luminiferous
sweep of sky,
none move me like
the voyage of sleek Sakiya,
Princess of pristine flight!
Her poise is subtle,
her path a prance,
she springs upon the air
with ballon buoyance!
It is the pantomime dance
of her spirit
which keeps her
tracing the clouds,
and her quixotic beauty
should never be covered by shrouds.
With a boundless grace and
her beatific face, we are often
reminded of angels
winging in space!
I lift my heart
as she skims the sky,
with my belief in miracles
beaming from my eyes.
Lovely Sakiya, Princess of Flight,
May your cherry blossom spirit
always reach new heights!