The Figure of the Dance

Two lovers, entangled
Spin oh-so-contrarily,
And the spaces between the steps
Mean more than the arching of feet.

Lips parted, unspeaking.
Words would only betray the hush,
And the figure of the modern dance
Means nothing to no one but us.

You could say that it’s foolish or more
To measure the substance of love
And undress it’s form.
But just when you think it might grow
To hold it at arm’s length just so
And resist the tension.

O, hope those moments do no harm
And pray
That those steps take you safely home once more
In each other’s arms.