When we dance, we touch hands as if fingers
were flower petals, rub cheeks as though bone
below the skin might break. Breathing lingers
in long sighs, anticipates life alone
after music ends. Breasts and bellies press
like praying palms, our flexing thighs glancing
then fleeing as lithe, rhythmic feet caress
the glowing floor, our diamond eyes dancing,
matching rotating globe’s romancing light
above us, symbol of universe’s
love for us, for all waltzing through this night
of singing strings, our whispers soft verses
from inspired angels. Their wings surround us,
unseen shields. Flowing hands rise to crown us.
Roger Armbrust
October 30, 2008
