Dancing

Music tinkling between my fingers,
insecurities floating
with closed eyes
in the middle of pirouettes and legs,
bursting into each day
following this composed blood
of pianos and monologues
through the path of dreams,
not found in night, nor in day;
in the limbo of creation
touching only air
with my fingers, like accordions
stretching towards infinity,
to a life of striving
for the impossible sensation,
insatiable perfection.