You are empty promises
Served on broken china and half-empty crystals
Of red red wine,
And your service slices through my delicated hands easily,
Creating wounds too wide to close.
This blood, like honey, drips slow and stains
This white blouse--
I think it looks pretty.
I sip the liquidity of your entity,
Losing sobriety with each drop.
You are half notes with cacophonic tunes
And I prance across your bare floors with such elegance
Only to find bits of glass kissing my skin--
But I do not stop.
Blood spills from the ghosts of their lips
and auburn streams streak over the sheened wood.
And my movement
Never agreeing on that perfect rhythm and harmony that,
Once upon a time,
the two had created.