The crush of velvet, taffeta, and slick
Of silk that slithers, snakelike, softly down
The dancer’s legs and pools around their feet,
A jeweled diadem that’s tossed aside in haste,
And glitter spilled across the floorboards,
A littered galaxy of dreams replete
With stays and braces, corsets, crinoline,
And lace, the understory that so graced
The gilded dancers now a trampled hymn
To artifice before the makeup glass,
Each pivot to another act a din
Of chaos, what was beauty laid to waste.
For nightly the illusions must be complete,
But here lies truth, much closer to chagrin.
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© James Von Hendy / all rights reserved