Cinderella on Words

I am made to listen... once he dances with me...
Words that are unlike words...

I am taken... from under my arm
He places me... on whichever cloud...

Black rain... befalls my eyes...
Dropping... ever dense... ever dense...

I am carried, by he
To landings of a red evening...

And I, like a child, within his hand,
As a feather carried by whispers of wind...

He presents me to the sun
He presents me to a summer
And a flock of birds...

He tells me... that I am his art piece,
Thousands of stars worth...
that I am a treasure...
that I am a portrait of all portraits he had seen...
He pours into me, that which lightens me,
That which makes me forget... the dance and its steps...

Words...
that turn my own history...
that make me a woman... for but a few moments...

For me, through illusion, he builds a castle...
that I cannot live in... only... for but a few moments...

And I return... to my table...
With not but words...