Her Little Dance

Poem By Rod Mendieta

Enraptured as I am,
Watching her little dance,
She's completely oblivious to my presence,
Plunging me in that existential void
Again.
Even though I'm well within
Her angle of vision
It's just her and her invisible daimon
In a cruel embrace,
Careening about, holding tight, sighing,
Then hopping, mincing steps
Like a marionette, quite childish,
Innocent, yet enticing, stabbing me,
With contemptuous green eyes
Seeing not me, but through me,
And her naked feet, and fluttering arms
Like wings.
She doesn't seem to be putting on an act:
Watching her is like sneaking a peek
At a child playing to herself
In front of a mirror, absent to the world
In playful disdain.
Oh please, will you acknowledge that I exist?
Will you cast your gaze,
However fleetingly
Towards this ailing fool?
Well yes… perhaps I don't exist.
At least not in her world,
Though I rather be a shadow,
A silent lurker, a fleeting scent
Softly breezing past
Her nymph-like thighs
And then disappearing into a void
Than be a fully fleshed-out man
In the distance, never catching a glimpse
Of her little dance.

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