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Painted toes on the end of feet lit by moonlight
draw circles on the surface of inky water,
dip and disappear,
dip and disappear.
A caramel wind, cooing
draws a listless head upright.
You stood across lanes of traffic, hands stuffed in pockets
fired a smile that doused me in gasoline
I leapt and twirled like a little girl in front of you,
laughed like a hyena, revealed myself.
Like dust and plastic bags swept up by the wind
on a concrete corner,
a heart spun up and out of order
(They tend to do when they’re set on something new.)
Painted toes, spinning circles on the surface,
keep dipping and disappearing.
A still liquid below beckons
the linger of an opiate stare at ankles
now stumped by the creamy cool.
What a frightful place to be.
Not there, spilling out
small and withdrawn under a slice of the moon,
its glow shattering into fragments as it lights up
my lingering limbs
and my fixation
in such a familiar fashion.
Blades, rustling by the thousands,
coax a shut-eyed exhale from within —
My lips remember their softness; my shoulders settle.
And I get up, of course. I know too much.
Submerged limbs are pigeon-hearted attempts
to protect the Dancer
the inexhaustible and formless Lover.