x+y=DANCE!

I think about dancing backward,
like they do in those videos,
and forget which way is front

so I count my footsteps,
in an exaggerated math,
and practice a backwards walk

then reverse in forward step,
twirl my hips a little, and turn

around to watch my footprints
evaporate into a fine equation,
no actual style goes with them

But I feel more confident about
dancing, so the kitchen
swiftly melts into a ballroom

and I imagine a rythm,
a melody,
harmonic and jazzy,

then turn and ask
'May I have this dance?',

Those soft, plaything fingers
clamp around my hand, and then
the other, doting on my arms

like a lilac banner, and I lead
her onto the floor, adding my feet
into a smooth, timed sashay,

subtracting, adding, such a sweet
small spin that multiplying
is almost necassary but then

her hips are in my hands,
neck to neck and I lean back
to glance into her eyes

and find my kitchen as a kitchen,
dirty tupperware clutched against
my chest like those spicy videos

had cut to announce a famine;
i'm so jealous they can keep a beat
and I can only imagine.