white spires on foggy shores
distant as the moon
call with whispers, loud as lions

turn round and breathe deep, the heavy scent
the porcelain caress
dripping like honey in the silver gateway
of all smiles and serpents

and I dance sideways,
toward the silent and slow
the white, cracked walls
a stage upon a stage

I dance with slow knives in my heart
a mask on my face
sliding and swaying through the fog on the stage