Musings by The Poet Loriet
Dances With Words
We rondolet around
the word, "baby,"
flamenco dance around,
"I love you,"
with chunky shoes,
stomping dramatically
to the Latin beat,
putting our passion
into the flair
of our steps.
Read my body language
as I plie' politely,
asking about your workday
with bedroom eyes.
I dosi-do to the refrigerator.
"Would you care for a drink?"
I smile and curtsy
as you bow out of my offer.
I want to say, "Hold me,"
but instead, grapevine
down the hall to the restroom
where I can hide my nervousness,
catch my breath,
and come out refreshed
for the next number.
It's getting more difficult
to keep up the masquerade
of feigned indifference.
I do large Arabic hip circles
in order to dodge the,
"Do you know how long
I've waited for this moment?"
that threatens to enter
center stage.
I shimmy cleverly around,
"I want you,"
and limbo under the looming,
"Hold my hand,"
as I fill the space
between us with
every funny anecdote
I can dream up,
while pretending to dance
like a square.
Maybe, when we run out
of meaningless words,
we'll have no space left
for flamboyancy,
forced to face our feelings
and join together
for the slow dance
we both really wanted
to engage in
all along.
The words just got in the way.
Lori Beal
the word, "baby,"
flamenco dance around,
"I love you,"
with chunky shoes,
stomping dramatically
to the Latin beat,
putting our passion
into the flair
of our steps.
Read my body language
as I plie' politely,
asking about your workday
with bedroom eyes.
I dosi-do to the refrigerator.
"Would you care for a drink?"
I smile and curtsy
as you bow out of my offer.
I want to say, "Hold me,"
but instead, grapevine
down the hall to the restroom
where I can hide my nervousness,
catch my breath,
and come out refreshed
for the next number.
It's getting more difficult
to keep up the masquerade
of feigned indifference.
I do large Arabic hip circles
in order to dodge the,
"Do you know how long
I've waited for this moment?"
that threatens to enter
center stage.
I shimmy cleverly around,
"I want you,"
and limbo under the looming,
"Hold my hand,"
as I fill the space
between us with
every funny anecdote
I can dream up,
while pretending to dance
like a square.
Maybe, when we run out
of meaningless words,
we'll have no space left
for flamboyancy,
forced to face our feelings
and join together
for the slow dance
we both really wanted
to engage in
all along.
The words just got in the way.
Lori Beal
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Dances With Words
Dances With Words
