Sitting in a dark theatre,
we're only two people in among many.
We watch someone's interpretation on life
on love

Your hand glides over on top of mine
in the dark theatre,
where spilled soda sticks to my shoe
where butter stains the seats,
you are perfect in my mind.
Juxtaposition:
of the movie with our life,
with the symbols of time,
with the world outside the theatre
three presented but in the fourth we reside.

In languages passed down from the gods
I try to speak to you
None can explain feeling,
emotion, truth, love.
My attempts to write are feeble,
it is only in silence that I can speak.
Words bind me,
tangle me.
Twenty-six symbols ,
and none can communicate.

Through art, feelings and emotions manifest themselves
I paint so that color and form can take place of words
I sing so that notes and rhythm can communicate
I dance so my body can be my voice
In a theatre,
in the darkness,
I can hear you as you hold my hand.
Each squeeze speaks volumes
Each finger folds upon words
your palm reflects against mine,
a mirror to infinity.