Daylight Dancer

In my plush, pink experience,
roses are more exquisite
dancers than I,
and it takes courage like a billboard
to be a daylight dancer.

The stones are brutal past
under blackened pressure.

Diamonds are never what they seem,
strings of ghosts like lights
around my neck.

What I write in white with
my digital digits –
a secret between my sin and the wind.

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