Lachrymose d'amore

Bedside reports--
Here fingers are choreography itself,
&; these sheets are drawing pads, &; the pillows
refreshed dreams even as the flesh sinks
&; the skull becomes more bone...
Brown doves, this tuft, that, of hair
Leaving the head, but a dance goes on
Nevertheless, a mash note, autumn-tinged,
In free fall for vivid living--
Spirals, leaps, improvised
To be well placed pirouettes...
You here, you...
Breath draws forth, a pencil's whisper
Waiting for the fulfillment of adrenaline.
Toe shoes &; skin, waiting for the onrush
Hush of Nuryev--
From the wings you also caught, brought
Bouquets, ovations, center stage, held
The promise of Petrochuhka, empyrean,
From "The Nightengale"...
So this ode goes clear as the legs
Before the pcb bouts, the cryptococcus,
Those vandals of an innocence feverish
To the end. Love, why are my cheeks wet?
There are footlights in the med pumps,
Final bows from the curtains, &; you stretch
Out suspended, a Peter Pan smiling wide
For the stars now, stars stillest,
&; you who were here
echoing there always as
the greatest wishes