Thursday, April 1, 2010

Soul Jumper

to be someone else
slip into a life like a little black dress
smoothing cloth against rounded hips
brushing out the wrinkles of a personality
not a twin, a copycat
but an embodiment, an expression
the essence outpouring
rolling fog come breathing in
and suddenly Her
the curve of the spine, flow of the hands
each little tick fills me
until the next one comes along