Transliteration (All This and Heaven Too)

An addiction to music:

thrumming up through my toes

to soft blonde curls and crisscrossed

eyelashes—this is all

I offer in my origami

midnights of fingers pricked

on a thousand cursed

spindles, so wickedly

wondrous as I fumbled

for the right words, to make

my paper dolls dance

a perfect step to

the beat painted all along

the inside of my skull.

It drips down the back

of my neck on ticklish tip

toes; the soft chirp of

colored pencil birds waiting

to be blown away pools

in the ridges of my

spine. I am slicing

my fingers open

to find it, splicing

this slice of divinity into

lesser things; and colors

watery and pale in sad

contrast with the music.

I can't stop my

introspection, my exploratory

surgeries to feed

my prowling sins,

gluttony and sloth;

for while I muddle

in music the outside

of this box goes dim

and so I fade to feast

on what I cannot

taste: for words

are nets with holes

the music swims right through