porcelain woman

14 Sep

when the woman in my music box

dances me to sleep on soundless nights,

my dreams stand stretched in arabesque.

 

long, slender stories, alabaster

lulled into being by a ballerina’s song

– balanced and balancing –

but when the jingle slows,

softens to match the soundlessness of my bedroom,

my dreams lose their footing

and stumble to one side.

 

and i feel sorry for

the woman in my music box

in such a stationary stance

with and unchanging soundtrack

and such little room to dance.