Sleek cat, she curves her water-bones
around the man, thrusts
her cupped palm. He waves her off.
Threading the crowd, she vanishes
past a shoulder and a moon-face.
She makes her eyes go dead.
The moon faces you like a spotlight.
You’re on the stage of your balcony
missing the admiration of Romeo.
You take in the unmusic of the traffic;
observing fiesta through slits
in my mask no one knows me
cares who my father is
why I have no wedding ring
Boxes of locked dolls.
Sprockets & wheels, chains.
Child's gothic cathedral
Feeling slightly Quasi-Modoish: Gold Dreams.