The beat is faint, the dance slow
so slow I'm not sure we're dancing
my partner is but a shadow
waiting to become more than a phantom.
The disco ball that so blithely
cost shards of light upon my eyes
forecast my partner's arrival
yet I had dared hope he would not follow.
But the beat strengthens
and the dance intensifies
the steps we've danced before
are too familiar and unmitigatedly unwelcome.
We turn and dip, this direction then that
an intimate tango
with each dip, my stomach rebels
the dips so deep my head ricochets off the floor.
He shows me no pity
but dances the dance his sadistic way
and when I am beyond spent, he departs
without so much as a bow at the end.
Migraine is a merciless partner
a relentless partner
a murderess I would gladly become
if only I could slay him.