Funny how you say you can’t dance.
Because you waltzed when you walked in and just knew how to move around my hesitant steps, touching, shifting, leading, creating, waiting. When finally, I paced forward, you started stepping back and continued shuffling away, still graceful as you always have been.
How could my hand let go of such grace?
Each from Different Heights
That time I thought I was in love
and calmly said so
was not much different from the time
I was truly in love
and slept poorly and spoke out loud
to the wall
and discovered the hidden genius
of my hands.
And the times I felt less in love,
less than someone,
were, to be honest, not so different
Each was ridiculous in its own way
and each was tender, yes,
sometimes even the false is tender.
I am astounded
by the various kisses we’re capable of.
Each from different heights
diminished, which is simply the law.
And the big bruise
from the longer fall looked perfectly white
in a few years.
That astounded me most of all.