lean over and tell me
(without any motive)
you’re a great dancer.
i don’t know what that means.
i should ask.
i do not ask.
i would like to think
it is because i am at home in my skin.
i know my body’s voice
and the best way to articulate its stories.
all those years in the clubs
late at night dancing alone and not alone.
how you catch someone’s eye
or someone catches yours
and how you start the conversation
of body to body.
how it is an opportunity for joy,
to celebrate the moment without expectation.
it is beautiful when dancing is honest
and without affectation.
the body is not a machine for approval.
this dance is an invitation
to sing without words
the glorious awkwardness
of skin and muscle and bone.
i still feel like a young man.
i still exercise
the many ways to speak the music,
moving in time and space.
even so, it is a strange thing
dancing and being the oldest one who dances.
