We move together. Slow, quick, quick.
My hand in yours. You lead.
I follow, but you cannot lead
without my agreeing to the steps.
You pose a question in movement.
I answer with a corresponding motion.
In this way we conversate together.
You hold me close, but still
allow me room to spin freely.
We step, step, glide, pivot, turn
across the dance floor in harmony.
Weaving a path safely through, around.
You clasp my hand in yours.
The intention of your body funnelled
through your arms, telegraphed through fingers,
guiding us to the music’s rhythm.
My hand rests lightly in yours.
Neither’s hand clutches. They need space.
Tethered together by choice, by action.
A too firm grip ruins flow.
A too weak hold can’t follow.
“Spaghetti arms” can’t maintain a conversation.
The delicate balance between strong and soft
is navigated step by step, collaboratively.
Honey, would you care to dance?
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