a voice

i pour it slowly on the table top, watch its darkness roam, watch
it search for flaws within my day time dreams, and listen for its hunger
waiting for the reverie to call a dance, but my feet can't find their twisty

steps, no pivots no romeo merengues, no young boy pointy-toe delusions
and it waits for me, for my failing, for the magpie songs that tell a gossip's
tale, and it wants my poor caresses, my salty prudish lips, it twitters

in a coy and subtle voice