PAUSE BETWEEN DANCES.

A DANCER AND HER VIOLENT MAN.

The pause between the dances. The time to
Sit still and pose and think of better times.

Nita reflects on the steps and music,
The way the limbs move, the legs, feet and toes.

Berghouser has no love of dance or her
Movement; he desires only the rough

Parting of limbs, the gushing of fires.
She feels her legs, runs her hand upon flesh

And bone. The orchestra warms up; flutes and
Violins reach out to the spheres. Nita

Looks up and out, her limbs tense, her soft hands
Prepare. There are coughs and whispers in the

Darkness out there; their eyes peer, ears listen.
Berghouser will come late; he will carry

His black mood like a huge cloak; he thinks her
Dancing and posing a frail futile joke.

Nita knows he will come, already feels
His finger poke, his eyes move over her

Leaving his snail’s slime. The dance will begin.
She prepares, gets ready, tenses her limbs,

Pirouettes in preparation before
Berghouser’s sex fuelled dark degradation.