We sit facing each other.
You keep telling me it's hot,
but I have goosebumps on my arms.
You have a knife so finely honed that I don't see it,
don't feel it,
not even when you've cut me,
until suddenly I am bleeding on the lawn and the darkness is falling
and you are gone.
We play encore like it's a game.
The man at the piano winks and urges us on
until you return, your arms wide.
It is beautiful but it doesn't matter.
I am bloodless and breathless,
and you never saw me at all.
(I'm throwing this against the wall to see if it sticks. Don't worry it you don't like it. I probably won't like in the morning either.)