Slow Dancing

 

The rhythm’s in my head, 

my feet tap tap tap to the beat

my lips mouth the words

it’s the end of the day and we sway

to this dance (take a chance)

my head insists (take a risk)

I just don’t know (take it slow)

but the scars on the heart, they insist.

Will it grow? Will it bloom in profusion?

Is it real? Or is it just an illusion—

a chimera, a lark? Or some other delusion?

An undertow? (If I let my guard down will I drown?)

Do I stay? Disembark? (Is it wise to restart?)

Is there a trace (A glimmer? A spark?)

in your words, in the lines you earmark?

As my heart beat, beat, beat, beat, beats like a drum

it resonates, while I succumb to the thrum...

I guard the line (Do you want me to go?)

Or take a chance (How will I know?)

Shall we dance?

  (take it fast) 

   (take it slow)

 

© Ginny Brannan 2024