First time I saw her she was wearing a mask.
One of those parties, you know?
First time I saw her - and
she was the world to me.
She wasn't just a pretty face.
She was wearing a mask.
- the whole world -
I asked her to dance..
and she did...
She unfurled.
She hung above the floor
on a wind of melody.
She hung like silence
between
beats
and soared the rhythm
like.. I don't know...
like an eagle prances
(thoughtless wings, a lazy surge)
in thermal updraft exhalations
from volcano nostrils
of the planet.
I had to take her home.
It wasn't that I wanted to get into her pants.
- of course I wanted to get into her pants
But that's not why -
I had to take her home.
I wanted to get into her face.
I wanted to get her mask off.
And when I got her home,
she took her pants off before I
could even ask.
I had to ask for the mask.
Over the years,
I begged for the mask.
And she refused.
It's been decades.
Last week..
she took the mask off.
I don't know why.
Maybe over the years,
under the mask,
the flesh...
well.. decayed.
Maybe the mask sank roots in her face,
and it tore open when...
I don't know.
But it's no clean wound.
It's a festering.
It's a party for things that crawl.
And I can't look away.
When she exhales
I plummet through sulfuric stench
into the pit of hell.
When you fall like that
from broken wings..
how do you stop from looking down?
I beg her to put the mask back.
But she refuses.