All That Glitters

A short poem about creepin' on a dancer while she practices a routine in what she assumes is an empty theater.

All that glitters is cold, empty. Spotlights lost in dusty corners. Echoes of voices drip from velvet curtains that hang heavy like the lids of tired eyes resting on cracked, wooden flesh. Tombstones of rusted chair backs bow like dominoes tilting towards the final curtain fall.

Waves of dust like fabric in motion twirling with her, trailing her hands as she moves silently across the stage to a song in her head, to the flow of her blood, the beat of her heart. My pulse races along the lines of her dress, lost among the strands of her hair. The beat weaving its way through the seams in her dress, unraveling stitch by stitch.

To the silent song in her head, I sit and watch the show.

Author's Note

All feedback welcome.