midnight grace
comes slow, wanting,
needing, a ballerina desiring to be done.
she's lived on air
for so long, breathing has become a dance
in shallow waters
the tilt of her head, the lift of her leg
the pain searing beneath
her skin, a drug settling in closing off life
as most of the world understands it.
strong hands carry her as if she were a cloud
offer her being up to strange audiences
breathing over her
echo her partner's mouth, dismissing thought
claiming small victories
over her body, skimming her life with moist
lips that break her will
she is beautiful
every woman wants to be her, sighs to her
tired of moving alone
hanging at loose ends, ready for the discipline
of ultimate love
to be under the sway of a relationship that
accepts nothing less
becoming narrowed in your love
oh how she quickens!
Cynthia
