Dmitri runs his fingers through dead leather strands
The threads limp and drained, down below the carpet stained
The same drowning red as the tips of finger print
Embedded on her scalp amidst her fallen beads of sweat,
Shattered fragments of shrill and glistening glass
Sparkling an illusion of diffused light and gravity
The foreground stained with Dmitri's darkness
Shifting the smell in the once perfumed room from Lily of the Valley
To a seeping sourness drenched in fleeting.
The streets outside are full of busy-bodies on the move
Dmitri walks slowly, lacking prior engagements for the night,
no dates for romance, no movies on big screens.
The only drama he encounters
falls from the sky in splintered sadness,
little droplets crying from the clouds.
The smell of women ushers him inside an entrance.
Dimly lit lights and low voices all around,
he sees a present wrapped in gold glitter
done up like a Christmas tree, tinsel about
her eyes and smile and throat. Begin the fantasy,
his hands curl around that dangling thing on her earlobe and it swings
She's cooing and begging and he lips purse in want as the flicker of his shadow
Grows on the wall behind her raspy drunk and ruined voice lets out a scream.
The earring falls to the ground with blood and grow more his shadow
to the vision upon the wall now, his ears all pointed and smile sharpened,
he reflects pointed and horned, as her neck bares the weight of his rancor.
The streets are full of aching beauty waiting for harvesting
Dmitri shakes the pain of having to hold off all his desire
He brushes away rogue from too-rosy cheeks
Makes tight the loosened skin of age
Breathes in factory fumes of nail polish and teeth whitener
When it's all over his changing shadow of man to beast
Flickers only for a few seconds at a time
Behind open flames, occasionally lit by his wife
In their high-rise, white-collar home.