i) when you get there, the tent is piles of paisley and silk patterns, aged with secrecy and incense you can feel before the air even hits you.
and you go in, and she (me) is sitting there like a sphinx and a muse, and a hoodoo dolly
with not a crystal ball, but a grapefruit
and when she smiles at you, all porcelain and pearls
her small hands slice open citrus
and you feel the sting of prophecy
on her lips

ii) it starts with panic.
the car ride is too small and the clouds outside laugh at you
big piles of ice cream on blue
but you get to the beach and everyone is laughing, too
even the clams and the mermaids
and the barnacles
and she’s there, you know, she’s curled up on the shoreline with poseidon lapping at her legs
foam cupping her hips and sand rushing languidly betwixt fingers and toes
beckoning with lullabyes and plutonian eyes
come here, pretty thing
let’s talk
about

iii) the chandelier illuminates the pumpkin glass room, and,
candlelustingly exceptional honeycomb dancers
all the girls spinning in diamonds and strings
pincurls and lamb-like lashes
and she is no exception to the rule
she is irresistible, you fool
and the piano hums out sixteen yards of swing
and you cannot stop the drift of your clicking heels
nor the heat that amplifies when your palms cusp her hips and she moves, moves forever like all she knows how to do is dance with you
spinning like a music box princess
who smiles like she knows every damn secret this side of eden
for a moment you consider ripping her teeth out, but

iv) her hair goes on for uncountable miles, twisting to her tailbone and abandoning ship for her own personal pleasure.
and she watches the record spin on the side table, all sherry-gazin’
and then lower, still, the curve of her belly still makes your breath catch
and gape
like a fish out of water for the first time
every time is the first time
it won’t ever stop her from smiling, though, it won’t it won’t it won’t,
and as usual, you fall to your knees in worship
tongue wrapping around her ankles
sweet and needing
pleading, pleading
for her to never leave, to never

v) snap out of it.
your skin feels too hot and you’re not sure what time it is
or why the woman across the table looks like she’s your age but has more time in her body than the oldest of the hourglasses
and you have something stronger than a desire or impulse, compulsion
to know everything
there is to know
about her very essence
now shut up and walk home, comatose
forget the sad look on her face as she thanked you and whispered goodbye
there is a dream somewhere that’s waiting
patiently
with her name on it

vi)

and it says.