dust motes

June 5, 2011
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her earrings were guitar picks
wrapped around her waist was a complete strand of piano keys
she blinked as if to see the stars through her sunspotted eyes
the dust that coated her cheeks & eyelashes was gold
because she had the words she had the final song

her feet were warmed by sparks
laying down on fake wood floors of airless rooms
she reach up to brush back the guitar strings in her hair
she had come late & was waiting for the next day already
dark motes were building & building in her

her mind was elsewhere
tracking the full notes of a 2 man orchestra
she assumed that the ceiling would reattach someday
everything was about the cloth & colors
as she stood up slowly to dance

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