LOVE LETTER TO DAVID BOWIE

 LOVE LETTER TO DAVID BOWIE

David, 

Tonight, the skirt fits, the stars hang as we sip and sit in an old stone castle, the local spectre has yet to leave her room tonight. By now she would have completed her ritual: she walks, face contorted, skin pale, groaning, she rushes toward you, you always run. I beg her to dance to an old song of yours. Her ritual complete. 

David, change into that dress I love, change into a man I’ll love, and as she graces us with her presence, write a song about fear of ghosts, how I begged you to move your hips just a bit closer, or of an old gothic romance. Write of our spectre and her reluctance to dance. Let's switch roles, I will be writer. 

I will write of you as a ghost-lover, killed by the one you refused to give a dance. I will write of violent-love, of a dress that weaved time, a spectre, and of an old haunted castle.

I will write of a poem longer than 8 lines, of the quicksand in our life on Mars, my house is no space oddity, I am not Warhol, nor can sell you the world for a dance. I, only, dance— become poet, write of the mundane ghost that haunts our lives. I can only dance.