Women of Picasso

 

I dance the world on spinning mountain peaks of sleep

invisible partners glide

to and from my arms

falling out into spacious ballrooms of rose

 

My sorrow is a cup of blue honey

and I sip the swirls of desire

laughing strong in dance because I know nothing

 

Every place I spin there forms a memory of me

billows of light engulf me

and I am driven by the music of vibrant abandon

 

I dance where silence has not yet formed

beneath the virgin coils of longing

where the wings of angels are waiting still to move

 

I dance in the eyes of the dead

like arrows they beam straight arches

I follow, propelled by the moon and her ladies

stepping out of my body from time to time

 

To the edge of impossible cities I dance

on pillow stone streets my feet taste

the meaning of stars

to the luminary of lust I dance

in her velvet serpentine arms

I fade to a crush of crimson waters

 

Hand and hand with the women of Picasso I dance

in tears of music I dance