Spiral Circuit

She has a way of saying the word,
Of waltzing with the whispers
That shiver along currents of material silence.
She twists her legs into the umbilical of sheets,
Beats her feet into a morse code of belonging
As the word knots itself into a wing, beating.
And while her heart crashes into salty dissonance
Her mind would strive for a parlour trick,
To conjure itself--
And itself only--
And banish the guilty refrains of internal dissidence.

Her eyes explore the dust fallling in slants of hazy sunlight
And she falls asleep in a forgotten corner
of an abandoned hour,
Dreaming, as the desert, of water, and
Longing, like Lucifer, for a life
Taken and paid for and spent
Before falling as scraps to a ravenous mouth.