Communication Breakdown
Feed her with quarters And her back will jolt up, Her hips will speed ninety degrees, Her arms and neck still stiff with frost, As her eyes will blankly wander through you
They rattle in her stomach They rattle in her stomach while, As you watch her nervously, just like Your first time sifting through all those Magazines, the ones you burned at twenty,
She dances on hot coals. Saint Sebastian couldn’t have danced more Joyfully if they launched twice the shafts, Or melted glaring eyes over his naked body Like you do to her now, like you did to her then.
It is a beautiful dance, not fit For Broadway, though, nor any Club. She dances for you, whispering In a language that only you and her share. But you see only hips and chest.
~C.C.
