The geisha sits on the soil of the sea,
Watching the waves peak,
Crest,
Fall,
Listening to the mournful cries of the lone bird overhead,
Feeling beaten and worn like the shoreline,
She knows dusk will turn to night.
Night is when he comes to her,
Under dark blankets of stars,
Illuminated by shadow.
The tide swells,
The geisha gathers her pallet,
Wrapping it just so,
Gazing back at the sea,
Longing for sweet release,
The long journey continues,
Walking with a heavy heart,
Trained to let go.
The geisha's hour of preparation begins,
She lays out her stalking of silk,
Her Chantilly delicates,
Her heart heavy,
She pulls back the bed sheets,
Exposing the hidden sachets,
The geisha picks them up,
Placing them in the box of cherry wood,
The preparation continues.
Night is when he comes to her,
Under dark blanket of stars,
Illuminated by shadow.
The geisha glances at her reflection in the mirror,
She reaches for the oil that he loves so,
Rubbing it into her sun kissed skin,
She applies his favorite lip color to the fever there,
Her heart heavy,
The preparation continues.
The shadows grow taller,
Bringing with them the night,
Slowly the geisha walks to the window,
Perusing the street below,
Her eyes yearning for him,
The doorbell rings,
Her heart heavy,
She gazes into the mirror once more,
Slipping into character,
For one more stolen moment,
One more secret embrace,
One more kiss.
Night is when he comes to her,
Under dark blanket of stars,
Illuminated by shadow.
The dawn will come soon,
Bringing with it,
The burden of The Geisha.
