two-step.

someone once said to me,
"if you want to know
how a man performs
in bed,
watch how he dances."

i'm reminded of
a multi-lighted purple
gloom of a smoke (machine)
filled room where limp bodies suspended
by anchored elbows
gathered round a wooden altar
to sip the liquor of saints.

we were strangers to the crowd,
so he and i swayed freely
hip-to-hip,
heel-to-toe,
ass-to-throbbing
thickening crotch.

we swayed and he sang cavalier
into my right ear,
"killing me softly."
"killing me softly” clung
to every corner of the room
and he knew all too well
each breathy utterance's
sting,

how despite reason's objections

i'd still strip down

and sway to no known

music other than

our syncopated heart beats,

coasting on our rhythms,

humming a little diddy

as we do the stroke.