I walk upstairs where you are waiting.
Climbing the stairs from the dark underground, I feel the air getting warmer. Climbing the stairs through the dark tunnel, there is the whir of the fan, the pumped in music of the afternoon–voices flirting and ice settling and jukebox interpretations– coming to a shaky pause, suspended. I bow invisibly.
The beginning.
Satin slippers with six inch heels. Rhinestones and bows. A painting on the canvas of features, a face. A pretty decoration for this package of parts. A beautiful, empty, package.
Memory combines with force to move my body through space.
Tender, soft skin meeting the rugged terrain of red light and air, and stage.
The rugged terrain of space. Of space. Of space.
I offer you the present.
Unwrapping obscuration, pretense and decoration.
All I have, this dance of becoming, this vibrating moment.
I offer you the present.
Buttons leave buttonholes. Garments become formless.
I untie the bow, stepping out, revealed.
My eyes sparkle with it. Sometimes I look right at you. I am scared. I am delighted. Sometimes I close my eyes. I close my eyes and make a gesture. The middle. The middle. The middle.
Here, bare
I watch a stream of sweat running down my arm, to settle at my wrist.
The moment stretches
I imagine
all the water in my body evaporating into steam, filling the room with fog.
I see this wrinkled canvas dry and brittle fall away, gathering in folds around turquoise satin and rhinestones,
falling away to expose the fat of once-plentiful, juicy thighs and cheeky cheeks
falling away to expose the dried-up length of muscles once straining under beauty and form
falling away to expose steaming entrails and the precious heart now pumping dry
falling away to expose these bones, these bones, these bones
bowing over, crumbing, falling away.
What remains
of this priceless life
What remains of the smile we shared
the care
the love possible
the hustle
the flickering hope and despair
and cessation of all
What remains here, here, here
The End
