The Tragedy of Two Slow Dancers: A Poem

Two slow dancers meet in a moment of weakness on the stage of a queen size mattress

Bedsheets become curtains to behold the tragedy of he who dances for the sake of the art, and she who dances to be in his arms

And she didn’t know why the sparks flying left burns lingering on her lips until they were dismissed as the heat of the moment

And even if there was no audience, the show must go on

Whether it be to make love or to make art, hips must sway in sync

Even if your feet are bruised from the nights performing back-to-back,

And your lips are burned from the sparks -no- the heat of the moment,

The show must go on

The stage must be their canvas, painting a picture of cloud nine’s completion of the water cycle

They’ll paint the picture of when the high fades and we fall back down to the earth

When their hearts drop, and sink back into the ocean

A natural cycle that leaves you bloody and bruised until you reach that high again,

And sink again.

They will paint that picture

Because maybe if she brushes the bruises off as art, they will look prettier against the light

Two slow dancers separate in a moment of clarity

The curtains fall, the stage is left vacant, but the scent of tragedy laced with her perfume still lingers.