There's a room in my head
and a palace in my soul
and there's a loom
with the words I've said
beside my thoughts like thread
on their spools
not whole

Wayward and fleeting
are the meeting of glances
My inner fears retreating
from all these romances

You assign indignity
to wandering eyes that see
only to the depth
of your will and art
trapped beneath pain
in a prisoner's heart

Though this is a dance
The music protests
our abandoned steps
are wasted chance
and graceless form

Moonlight on
a ballroom floor
Portends the ends
What was it all for?

No fearful stature
holding back a storm
could seem a rapture
to a timid born

Yet a willful passion
behind skillful charm
May indeed find
the way to disarm