Dance | Alphabet City

Tag Archive: Dance

Sleep on it?

June 2, 2013

The dancers’ marks are spotted,
glow in the dark,
exes on stage,
blue like stars burn hot.

She’s in the back row left,
a second in the recital,
but she’s perfect in her execution,
in expressing the step,
heart, line, and sinker.

Sexy beyond her age.
It’s obvious she’s thought a lot about this dance.
Voguing and stepping, in her own world, a private reverie,
her face caught in stage light, fine boned and captive,
for the moment, timeless.

She bangs the rhythm like I do in my seat,
catching the upbeat and-a two
with a shoulder shrug,
more subtle than hips.

I can convey as much with a nod,
and hold – three – four.

Kiss you on the downbeat, and twirl away in stealth,
leaving you guessing, what the f…
before the bridge.

I’ll go it solo if you are not along for the ride.
Your’re either in on it or out.
At this point in time, I need someone wholly committed.

Someone willing to break from the pack,
do a funky two-step unlike any previously seen,
without regret or self-consciousness,
and revel in the devil-may-care what the hell
any y’all think –
who gives a flying rat’s ass –
as long as we got we, it’s all
oh so absolutely good,
can’t nada be wrong.

Go loco with me baby.
Yell into the abyss with me.
Play pinball, bounce among stars, tilt at worlds,
at windmills, my Dulcinea.

Hold me, love me,
long into the night,
beyond the time when most would think sufficient.

I need long nurturing.
I need to be convinced, not mildly placated.
I need the long haul, the real deal,
the essential, the life dance,
the primal, Eden on the lips,
embraces that never stop, gardens in full bloom, all the time,
marking celestial passing.

I despise aftermath.
I hate interlude.
I just want constant flow, perpetual give and take,
riffing on the now,
the wonder of what’s here, and we in it.

Be me being you be me.
I want to wrap myself in the musk of you,
disappear into oblivion,
like a child prone on the back seat,
at night en route to home from the carnival,
windows rolled turn, to allow night air,
to circulate, while streelamps dance
in the reflection of rear window glass,
and aged melodies play out in AM,
way past midnight, way past my bedtime.

Hold me baby. Be my blanket buddy.
Heard there’s a storm brewing; cuddle with me under cotton sheets
alongside open windows,
while the storm howls,
and the rain blows in.

Young dancer, stay young.

Tags: Art, Arts and Entertainment, Ballroom dance, Dance, Folk, Kiss, Performing Arts, Shopping

Comment

Breakfast at Tiffany’s (but not what you think)

Filed under: Poetry — Leave a comment

May 27, 2013

You look so familiar under the brim,
sun-warmed straw hat,
Panama Blue, foamed
white clouds, nothing but
horizons.

Tan sand warm,
cinnamon, toast.
Sweet samba,
how you walk!
Swept, spectacular buttocks,
on the upswing,
always.

You can never have enough limes:
repeat that three times.
I’ll wait . . .

I cut you off at the sink,
and we dance a quick
1-2 and
end in a kiss
to punctuate the up-beat,
the turnaround.

You break, your own time,
to whirl barefoot
on terracotta,
snap you fingers, close your eyes,
shake, rattle, roll,
in private, pondering,
your own reverie.

I gulp big palmfuls
of healing water,
cold ladles of quenching, drench
over parched tongue,
lips and palette.

I twirl you
in white rooms,
underneath silks,
wound up like a top,
in emerald,
teal and rose.

I pull your puffy lips
with my own, release,
they snap back,
emboldened, laden with
blood, alive.

Your frame,
head through neck,
wriggly shoulders,
down the curve of sides,
meringue hips.

Swing, long body!
In the wind, in the night,
lean and pose,
poise, stretch
tight, grace,
ease into a self-arc.

You are a time from before,
you bring me back
to salty winds,
high spires in glare,
too bright
to bear.

Surf, roll over me,
endless slow shoosh
of shaving cream
echoes, royal.

You, like a shark,
swimming the surface,
under deep violet skies.

Cutting your arms
in perfect vees,
all along the waterlne.

Propelled,
as if floating on air.