Dances she upon the breeze
Of his exhaled and infinite satisfied dreams,
With sun scorching pity on her paper heart,
So ripped and lost in explosive perfume
Where her soul creeps in silence,
In shadows and void.

Waste and void,
Waste and void,
Waste and void and her long-lost heart-hope
Is a sighing of whispers
That writhe in the moonlight and
Squirm in the day
And the heat of the night
And the thundering skies
Where her feet kiss the earth
In her stumbling waltz
On her way.

Lips upon no skin as moth burned on flame
And the echoes of
Nothing are teetering cold
On the edge of her spirit where
She opens her all
And she pours out her every
And all things
For him
To be squandered in
Satin and razor-sharp shears.

And still,
She dances long and wild
For
Hope
Cannot die or be pushed to one side,
But is slaver and master
And captor and king
Of all that she is
And could e'er wish to be,
As of yet unattained,
Unattainable joy
Can ne'er kiss the hand
That would treasure him most.

Waste and void,
Waste and void,
Waste and void.

Still she waits.

This poem only available on Lush Stories. If you are reading it elsewhere, it has been stolen.