The tightrope is my play scene

“Yes: I am a dreamer. For a dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” (Oscar Wilde)

The tightrope is my play scene, the snowy airy sheet of
Deflowered demureness is my red-flowered toque.
I sleepwalk amid summits at night, the Moon’s argent halo
Imbues my unworldly terror with veiling amazement.

The seduction game with mortality is my favourite morsel,
The abyss my royal bed, you can’t imagine how the uncertain
Suspense blooms my desire. The fortune screams through
My pallid bluish skin, the acrobatic jerks satisfy my morbidity.

I dance electrically and the Stygian breeze violently pushes
My immaculate vision between my ankles. The violet mist
Obscures my thin line and the rays comfort my agonizing flesh,
Maudlin predestination to an unwritten yet fatality.

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