Dancing Girl

She lives inside me,

now.

There’s a place

near the black spot

on my heart

where she knows I

will let her stay, and feed her

from the oozing wound.

And she smiles

and licks black, bitter honey—

my honey—

from her lips and ring-adorned fingers.

“It was me first.”

She doesn’t speak—she doesn’t need to.

“I had him first, your baby blue.

And I didn’t ask

so much.  I was never the one

who made him cry.”

She is uninvited here,

like you were.

I want to set her free.

I want her to stop the dance

that feeds my black flames,

that creep in my stomach and

 spin in my mind and claw

at my heart—

and burn behind my eyes.

Sometimes they grasp you, Love,

and I watch.

I watch and let my

demons devour you.

But it’s me they want.

It’s me they will destroy.

She gives them

Power

and sucks it dry from me,

but I let her live inside me,

and now I don’t know how

to evict her,

or how to make peace with her.

Did you let her in?

She was inside of you, first.

It must have happened

when you were inside

of me.

I’m angry

            and afraid.

She is neither.

She is stronger than me, now.

Perhaps it is for this that I despise her.

Perhaps it is for this that I despise myself.

Last night she danced,

and you watched.

You watched the brown,

naked flesh,

the swaying hips,

the teasing smile

and the chocolate colored hair

feathering over

round, perfect breasts,

like twin suns.

The scent of lemon and lilac

is blanketing the dim room.

Her movements are erratic—

You could not match them,

and she doesn’t want you to.

She dances for you

and not with you.

She expects nothing in return.

She is exotic and sumptuous and tantalizing.

Tonight you will want her body

more than you want my heart.

She knows I am there—

I am small now, crouched

in a dim corner.

She smiles and taunts—

it is a game.

Because I’ve won she can do this,

because I love she can hurt me.

I do not want to see this,

and she knows.

She sees that I am weak—

She sees that I want

every fiber of your body, of your heart, of your soul.

And she also knows

I won’t do this for you.

I won’t be your

Dancing girl.