The following is a script I’m working on for a low trapeze piece;
You are the only one that doesn’t tell me I’m fat or my hair’s gone wrong and lifts my weight,
At least when you bruise it stains and isn’t changed by do-gooders saying I should give you up- which would only bring me down,
You never mind what I wear,
I don’t mind if you’re not washed as long as rope doesn’t Tear.
You are there every night I come home,
Faithfully you hang around waiting my return without boredoms or moans.
I tell you anything- I tell you everything!
And you always listen and say, without words, tell me again.
And I hang off every word.
I think someone called it dance once.
What would you say if you could say?
Would it spoil our silence as you hold me up?