Part: TROIS

You dance in circles across the floor, with your hair fluh-fluh-flowing down your shoulders against my neck. It mingles with mine and tangles in a tight lust-knot. I can see it in your eyes, all the feelings you've never known rushing to your heart through your bloodstream. It sparks when your finger reaches out to touch to mine and we sing. It lights my eyes to possibilities and the future, but I'm no human to realize the difference between now and then.

The people love you, and I know why. The lemon-lime cordial in their voice says it all when they speak of you and your happenings. Even when the wine pours down our throats and we shuh-shuh-shake to the music in tantalizing vibrado they love you, and me by hand-on-waist association.

We met in seasons change, winter to spring, death to life. We came back from the brink and that was so obvious. We danced in a deadly ballet around the edge, or at least I did. I didn't notice when you slipped the leash around my waist to pull me when I fell. I should have know. I would have cut it, but I'm glad I never knew. The arson would have doused the bridge and lit it long before.

I was pulled back from the edge... onto your bed where I made one, two, three mistakes. Sour-regret doesn't hang me on the gallows as much as it sprouts from my shoulder-blades like wings and lifts us up where we belong. Up high, where I can taste the vodka on your breathe and the smell of the cocaine you sipped through your nose. Silver folds itself across the floor and we walk across it as if it's air. It is. And we fall through to down below where we land on soft grass. Writhing, we crush Cairo and bathe in the Nile. A crocodile snaps a string between his jaws, but no one cares.

Walking in, I see you with him and my heart breaks though I know it isn't fair. The liquid falling from your eyes when you hold me after is enough to convince a naive mind that you care about it. A flower grows from my head and you call me your Piper.

Your hands are traveling across state lines and I'm stuck in the crossfire. Too many times almost caught and caught but not noticed. The orchid in the back of your mind is blooming and it's making wheels turn.