Turn on the light

for as long as it took she lay as still as frozen air

turned away from her heart, thinking once was sufficient

once had burned into her core and left it carved out

all the nights of wanting, all the empty arms making

false moments, dancers without orchestra

she watched a thin girl, her narrow hips swaying to music

the way her hair fell in cowslip, shy smile, wide eyes seemingly

looking through time, a turning moment

we know we are not alive to feel nothing

never intended to be closed off

locked out of life by indifference and cruelty

by those who do not return ardor or regard

sleeping with our back against the wall

wondering

will anyone ever pull me to them again?

want me with the exquisite folly of pain?

maybe the dancing girl would never be

more than a muse, silhouette on memory

or something beautiful to appreciate

a candle reminding her, she can sculpt whimsy

when you think you cannot feel

it takes only

one moment, one unexpected person

their beauty making you feel the same way

as before

when we ran down alley ways calling

Madonna! Madonna!

turning her shoulder blushing

her mini skirt and boots

when sunk to our knees in ardor

late for work more than once unable to rise

beyond the dream, watching her sleeping

when I pulled her into my sphere

with a serious face she said

I’m crazy about you, don’t ever let go

the dancing girl a key, opening back into brightness

maybe she’s a symbol, maybe fantasy

but she’s the one who knew

how to turn on the light

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