En Pointe

To my heart, you tread with heels on a point—
a dancer’s kiss against the edge
where grace meets pain.
Did I deserve this bruise of love,
this ache that bends my bones
to the shape of your touch?
Can I reshape it—
like clay softened by heat—
or is it a fall I must endure
just to see you again?

I may stumble,
but still, I can look you in the eye—
chin lifted,
arms poised in defiance of gravity’s pull,
like a dancer who falls
only to rise with more fire.

You are so special,
each step etching lines of poetry
in the space between us.
Your skin makes me cry,
a touch so raw it flays my heart
and leaves it bleeding ribbons
across the stage.

Here, beneath the spotlight’s glare,
we dance our fractured pas de deux—
you, the perfection I reach for,
and I, trembling
on the edge of losing balance.
Together, we spin,
until the music fades
and all that remains
is the echo of our beating hearts.