il ballo

each word is a love song
in this our dance
some days, a tango
(slow, sensual, full of wrapped legs
and midnight confessions)
other days, a samba
(quick and light, joyful,
playful and laughing)
the rhythm and melody change
but what does not change is this:
when we turn, your hand is in my hand.
when we spin, my eyes are fixed on yours.
when we pause, breathless,
i impulsively consume
what air remains in your lungs
with ravenous appetite.
your hand on my waist, an invitation.
my hand on your shoulder, an acceptance.

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