I am enticed with the majestic fluidity of your fingertips,
tugging at my strings so that my skirt twirls and billows
around me in a mannerism that only romance could suggest.
And the smell of your cologne entices me
enough that I cannot detect the lies
seeping through your skin.
No, you are my master again.
I was hesitant this round,
I did not want my cords tied round my neck in knots.
But you whispered to me gently,
that you had forgotten how to hang others
just limply from a thread.
Yet here I am.
And as the déjà vu rattles my bones
I cling to the twisted twines of love,
that they will break
and I will fall
and I will shatter
and I will pick up the splinters
and you will be nowhere in sight,
but the show must go on.