May I dance with you?
Beguiling coquette,
playing hide and seek
behind dusty stacks
of dogma, whose stiffness
has stifled our centuries —
you, who so glibly slips
through the clench
of my insecurities, as I
awake to the dim light
with a chill sweat
and an empty hand; too shaky
to face the day without
your steadying sobriety.
But you are whimsy.
Wind whistling through the leaves,
as evanescent as mist
rising from a morning pond.
Concealed in shadows, you wait
for me
to take one bold step
into the darkness
without a candle.