tarantism — disorder where you have an uncontrollable need to dance

Sunlight pouring across your skin, your shadow
                                                       flat on the wall.
      The dawn was breaking the bones of your heart like twigs.
You had not expected this,
                       the bedroom gone white, the astronomical light
                                                      pummeling you in a stream of fists.
        You raised your hand to your face as if
                        to hide it, the pink fingers gone gold as the light
streamed straight to the bone,
        as if you were the small room closed in glass
                                            with every speck of dust illuminated.
        The light is no mystery,
the mystery is that there is something to keep the light
                                                                        from passing through.