She Steps As Rose

For V.R.S. A bend, a pirouette--a flower's dance reflects in his shadowed eyes, and in her thorned steps, the atrophying force rooted and redoubling. Promise me, he breathes behind a teacup while she is encapsulated in a globe of fading light. The briny-dotted atlases sit reverent, assembled beside the living- room's songs of foreign heartbreaks, each seeded and grown rampant ivy on her mind's towers, those unseen cracks of weathering leaving only dreams of dreams to recirculate like seasons in a day. Worn linen florals ebb about her body, settling in her late autumn and hoary winter languishes beyond the pane where wind-animate limbs, a veiny applause, galely knock, and her upon the balustrade of the Palladium, Hermetic roses beneath her toes. Were we ever as good as frozen petals?