Porchlight floats in soft through threadbare curtains
crisscrossing our shadows with the kitchen's single-bulb glow
while we stand slowly swaying,
bare feet dancing in tiptoed steps,
quietly on the crushed carpet.
The stereo is low but the night is late and the music sounds like surround
as he curls me against his chest before casting me,
to the very tips of his fingers,
in a sweet twirl pulled from a romantic movie he's probably
never even seen.
A crescendo of laughter and violins as I stumble on the return
and a familiar hand on my back tries to balance me,
but his palm lands on skin,
and the beat my heart skips in that moment almost kills me with heady delirium.
The last note hangs in the now too-hot air--
an electric stickiness clings to our rumpled clothes,
and somehow cold shivers shake through me,
as that final night folds itself around us.