The Last Tango in Entrechat

In his exquisite state I approach,
Refined in my appearance,
Delicate in my step,
Benign.

Feeding his ego, as he will feed us,
I request a demonstration,
Extreme prowess,
No limits.

His ego swells in my presence,
Angering Dyer-Bolique,
Such is his envy,
Irrefutable.

To fiend takes to the stage,
Solitary in his solo,
Exhibiting aloud,
Symphony.

Music plays at our behest,
I take the front seat,
My shadowy twin,
Watching.

Prima Ballerina glows with pride,
As he offers his performance,
For my eyes only,
No limits.

Pliable plier, bending his back,
Etendre, his leg stretches,
Sauter et tourner,
Jump and turn.

Tempo increases, carefully chosen,
Confused in his entranced state,
Plier, etendre, sauter, tourner,
Faster and faster.

Each flex and bend pushing his limbs,
Hurtling towards the extremes,
Pain is an illusion now,
First snap.

He laughs manically as his elbow breeches,
Through the skin bone protrudes,
He is unfazed by the crack,
My puppet.

My shadowy soulmate increases the volume,
Tempo gathers pace, like his twists,
Turns flex further, another elbow,
Ghastly.

Melancholic intrigue bathes me passionately,
Soaking in Dyer-Bolique’s warm glow,
Audience to our elastic prey,
Entrechat.

Entrechat, the beat of a rabid heart,
He takes flight and slams,
Tearing his knee,
Unstoppable.

Blissfully unaware the creature pushes himself,
Down on his knees, locked in the harmony,
His back bends, further and further,
And snaps!

Music ceases, silence reverberates throughout,
A duo and a solo artist, unwittingly broken,
We approach the stage as he lays,
Paralysis.

Our hands meet as we push the mangled being,
Head meets feet, severance of spine,
Our gloved hands lift the mess,
The meat.

Basted in honey,
Dressed with the offal of a dead man,
Garnished,
Slowly roasted.

Now his barely breathing cruelty burns,
Now he suffers,
Now he dies.