Poem - An Empty Puppet

I hold the supple skin of your middle,

firm,

as you dance your firedance.

I lose myself in your circle

and we become as one,

the weaving of my bones to the night,

I wait on the whim of your star,

standing in my lone heart shoes,

the colours of your aura

imprinted on my mind.

I dance the steps of the possessed,

and I fall down,

down,

down,

an empty puppet,

loves lost strings tangled and torn.

.

..