Let’s walk the moon and outshine the stars. Or rather let’s walk the stars and pocket every moon in the galaxy.
What do you mean, catastrophe?
I can pull you to me, my hips just above yours and lean in until you bend beneath me and then we can spin to the music that begins.
When we begin and never end.
Does nothing matter to you except safety? Will all the wooing in the world simply convince you to stay next to your fire at home?
There must be moments – tiny little moments between too-weary-to-read and too-restless-for-bed when you think of me.
Rainmakers are embezzlers of the soul, that’s who they are, sorry. Now I’m a different story. I dance upon all the tiny ledges of the second story of your house and tip-toe past your window when the frost is thick and the moon full.
I do this to frighten you because I am frightening- come dance with me. Come dance with me upon the white frost lawn, in the shadows of the bare autumn trees. Let me sweep you upward to the tops of the branches that wouldn’t keep a sparrow perched. We will stay aloft and dance upon the currents and eddies and I’ll hold you tight, your hips locked just beneath mine.
Stop the worries and stop the longing you have for the written word – listen to my music, listen to the thrum, the beat, the hum, the heat of what makes me – me.
But you won’t – you won’t. You’ll smile at me through your window, no matter how I dance or lift the music to your ears. You will pull the curtains tight against the whistle of high wind and forgotten summer. I’ll stay upon your window sill, dressed in a midnight blue top hat and tails and thrill you in your sleep. Yes, I’ll place my ice blue lips to the thin, thin pane of glass and thrill your dreams with what you resist and desire.