Fingertip Polka
...unfinished
Today is just another day,
Until the day we step away, from yesterday, once swayed by our tomorrow's.
Cursed to this present fade, or fix our sullied dreams today, weightless in the clouds, no longer feigning.
Questions, without answers keep. Like dancers without graceful feet. Still dancing in their sleep until the morning.
And gone are pas and pirouettes, they light their final cigarettes. That burn inside, the unsavoury ash, bitterly lingers on.
But fingers learn to prance, in ivory ballrooms, black tiles enhance, the music brings her dance by rhythmic fingertips.
