Improv 1

The Jello’s Promise

Half past smokey Spanish promises,
pink chairs and provoking curtains
curse for pulled plugs and parted soil
for weightless waists.
Strokes flecked in circles on empty
wallpaper circles in the
half-hospital,
half-restaurant. Hands clasp
a dim, dull utensil
barely scraping.
(unless radiated,
in a box of waves,
I will continue to dance)
Taunting your jaws
with my bound soul.