Step, slide.
Touch the walls, they're alive,
let them melt under your stream
of blood.
Recall your steps, repeat them in your mind as you count your turns.
Draw the contours of his face as Mozart plays. Air waves will sweep your
mistakes, you'll leave a path of
seashells.
YOU ARE READING
Glass prints.
Poetrytold me to swirl, let the air circle my waist and mold my legs. reach the ceiling, jump and flex. told him to slide on dust, extend his hands, my fingertips grasp. look into my pupils, watch the sunrise fall to dusk.
