Paradis, C'est les Autres

There are others here
and you, dancing
Pas de chat
Pas de cheval
Pas de poisson

I am forsaken; I am nothing.

 

That stage was our bedroom

Those eyes, those feet, the sweat 

The floorboards, unfinished, natural

A boombox, plugged into the power point that sometimes did not work

And the trains in the morning;

In the night

There was music though we had no need for it
We could bend to the deepest position; a grand-plié then

Pas de basque
Pas de valse
Pas de deux.

But one evening after the ballet I tore the lids from my eyes. How was I to sleep? Was I to miss your delicate face for even one second?   

And now there are others here

and you, dancing up there in the light

I am a beast alone with a torch

Guiding the crowds to their seats

Nobody speaks.

I am in hell.