(S)word dancer

Come, enter, you traveler.

Drink with us and rest your bones.

Sit, wait to see our dancer,

best performance in town!

After a dark hallway opens

one even darker room

wrapped in ten silk layers

crowded with strangers and smoke

(both of them born plainly

both twisting their shapes, above).

 

The scarce light collapses

around the centre,

and dare not step

onto the stage.

Someone there, is still and blurry

someone is silent

but a drum

it falls!

 

Then, somewhere, the sound of water

is flooding the dancing floor.

Somewhere, echoes of fountains,

shades of an ocean, but not a drop.

 

“Come, bathe”, cry the strings,

“bathe in me, this is my soul”.

A pair of limbs are swirling.

A pair of eyes are gazing at you.

A pair of blades slash your breathing.

A pair of lips open,

and nothing more.

 

Each step, an earthly shaking,

a stubborn knock on your heart.

The cadence gets lighter.

The steel meets the dawn.

The air drown in circles,

and then

then it stops

Look there now, stranger.

No room, no dancer, no smoke.

Just the dry, mesmerizing taste

of a bitter souvenir

in your mouth

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