The room is dimly elegant, crystal
chandeliers teasing the cloudless dreams
of white-gowned princesses. starfire
blazes in the eyes of hungry leeches
as they purposely lace fingers
into the wooden hands of their marines.

Once men, now puppets, now marines,
stolid torsos bathed in crystal
dreamlight, bound by pale fingers.
Dancing dodges more noble dreams
lost in allegiance to greater leeches
men converted; from heartbeat to hellfire.

At the far end of the ballroom is a roaring fire
and a bowl of punch, deep red for the marines.
Here stands a lone man, leechless
misty eyes fixed vacantly on the bowl of crystal
wandering on the clouds of dreams
that still unfold as he wildly taps his fleshy fingers.

Bathing in violin rhythms contrary to his fingers
the man recalls his days of eyes afire
slightly customized fairy tale dreams
dancing the rhythm of impulse with his marine
before youth was encased in ornamental crystal.
These were the days before leeches.

Like Medieval virgins, these leeches
move, chastity in their feet, seduction in their fingers.
And he spies the enemy whore, skull beneath sharp crystal
so his cheeks flush with jealousy fire
because she has his marine
encased in her mistless dream.

A Love, a beat. A beaten dream
soiled by the pointed heels of leeches.
It spins. HeSheIt spins. Marines.
bone and wood, recently entwined fingers.
Then dance has broken, chaos is fire
and on the wooden floor shattered crystal.

In his dreams he tastes fingers
In bloodied dress, leeches are on fire
And man’s cheek touches marine’s cool hand of crystal.

09/20/2006

Posted on 09/20/2006
Copyright © 2024 Kenneth Lau