She tiptoes across the stage,
blurred silence in suspended sostenuto,
gathering speed as she chaîné-s
in her battered pointe shoes.
Darkness and dust cringe in
creaking floorboards--
Nobody will come looking for her here.

Torn flesh opens walls with
pirouettes and grand jetés
trembling with heavy
vibrations of Tchaikovsky,
consumed by throbbing beats,
crescendo-ing melodies.

Stars shatter across
glistening Roman canvas,
al fresco breeze whistling
past shards of stained glass.
Her angel wing feet
tether strength and tranquil grace
in fouetté and arabesque.

Smoldering spotlight tickles
her rose flush face,
glowing in vertebrae
with every fire-bird crackle
of the broken record.
Nothing but lilac scent
grips the edges of her skirt.

Sweetness of sweat melts
down wax temples and
off wax shoelaces.
Floating eyes glisten and
twinkle at her every move,
when she throws on her dress
and doll face.

Perfect lipstick and slashed knees
turn back into plastic
as her first dance intertwines
with her last