Jul 10, 2016
My favourite dance is ours alone. My life meant never learning things humans take for granted; yours had dancing taken from you. But the bed is ours, arms wrapped about waists, voices soft laughers, our foxtrot the movement of lips, eyes as tango and other terms I know only as words without meaning. You provide meaning with your hands, breath, heart, the dance aching in your face as open as honest as any movement upon a stage. Your legs feel nothing from my touch and there must be ghosts behind me but you pretend not to see them and we dance in a private way entirely alone and almost free.
