my eyes are glued to your /charisma

Your paltry two dimensions unfold and multiply under the weight of spotlights, dancing you make it all seem like a long-dead sport. You make dancing quietly. You're irony in girl's form, girl in a shy, shy way. Then under those spotlights, mic in your bare hands, you breathe room into the life, earth into the sea. The truth is (visceral outweighing dreams) you can't see me where I'm sitting, spectator upon the slowly spinning scene before you. Here you carry such fine features: not an angle on you, nor a defect. Nowhere that i wouldn't touch. Not a piece of you unseemly, not a strip that can't create the heat of absolute inferno, the dreams of stuff I can't relate. Truth is, this is all about you, with your dancing voice to rhythm, rocking stage to hips and savage, un dul ate before me. Expose. Wild show me. My eyes are glued to your charisma, (swaying) eyes closed lips are moving; (swaying) eyes move lips are closing. And your voices make horizons, lift the belly to the flame. In the moments when you're singing (and the words are not to blame) I am not so captivated, as I'd like myself to be but I sit here watching, breathing, holding back my fantasies. Written August 8th, 2000 © on Oct 20 2001 02:43 PM PST   0 • 18 • 8