Tchaikovsky is droning, and the cat is
somehow asleep. Our dance starts as we did:
some discombobulated pirouettes
before the shape starts to form. It ripples
from her black velvet dress into a vague
human motion: running watercolors
that spill onto the carpet. Here, we riff
on Wilde. Become Michelangelo
on the scaffolding. She says that I’m an
illusion but asks me to paint her one.
It’s cold down there, so we find a blanket
to share before the zinfandel burns our
brains into the new year. The kiss? A fault-
line in this fractured fairytale, I fear.
Tyler Wettig resides in Ann Arbor, Michigan. His latest chapbook is Men in Togas Looking at Fruit (Zetataurus, 2016). Tyler’s website: https://tylerwettig.wordpress.com.