Another piece written for me by a different person.
Cuts you in half,
leaves you adrift
before making you whole again
with only words.
Who is he? The one.
The one with burdened shoes of black
who catches breath,
erases thoughts,
transforms smiles into cries
cries into smiles.
Who consumes my thoughts?
Touch electrifies my blood.
Makes cold hearts bloom
cultivated by white hands and
salty tears.
But no one knows where the magician gets his magic
From the darkness,
loneliness and hunger
he makes straw into gold.
No one knows the cost his magic owed.
Only the assistant who delves her hand fearfully,
(curiously) into the black of his velvet hat;
chasing rabbits with watches,
birds born of red satin.
How does he do it?
Where do they go?
Back with the assistant into the closet
waiting for the next show.