She sined in hieroglyphics.
Curvaceous maneuvers of rhomboid regalia,
listing waves of hands, butterflied.
Battered, in brilliance, she tilted and wove,
thinnest fingers that called for attention.
She sined in numerals of valiant frustration,
her phase-shift out of band, remembered.
Fingers were her lips and tongue,
and so she signed in
moves of beauty.
Attenuation over-pronounced, she flared,
faded spread of cobbled webs.
Lisps caught headlong on nails torn asunder,
and she signed,
and she lined me with fear,
so much fear.
She sined to me in geometry,
wavelengths captured, fluttering forward.
Sputtered vowels and staccato clicks
of fingers too numb and too weary.
Laid her back down amid her own drying pool.
Coagulation recalled her into itself,
fragile surface spreading cracks,
her fingers spun the story.
Lips they silently moved, to say,
and then entrenched in visceral fluids,
she sined through death-throes of agony,
floated up and began to change.
Shivers, trembles upon her lips;
hands, oh how they picked the cue
to emphasize her weighted horror.
"Someone give this girl a voice!"
Through eyes, I heard it all.
Held her close as orbs leapt afire.
She triggered not once but twice,
sluicing juices flooding the pavement,
fingers danced and signed regret,
rolling back, her last word given,
her muteness almost complete.
A glance would not reveal her condition.
Death stripped away her attributes.
Flaws forgotten, tongued and slid forward,
but her graceful hands, even in digress,
spoke in volumed secretions.
And she changed right there in front of me.
Floated up to claim her prize.
Outstretched fingers grasping:
at silent truths,
at muted lies.
Then she billowed out and was gone.
* * *
Copyright © 1998 by Richard