And let there be no intermediary,
And let the language between you and I be,
Confined to,
A tap,

To a dip,


To a moment.
Instead of,
A je,

To an I,


To a me.
And let the rhythm flow,
From the pounding of,
Both our hearts,
From veins,

To pulse,


To beat.
And whether the fingers flow,
Cross strings,

Or keys,


Or dampened skin.
Let that pounding,
Of the heels,

And the boots,


And the quiet ballets,



(Of the strong,




Or the weak,





Or the “I’m tall enough”’s)
Dull the sighs,

And the stares,


And the sharp pointed fingers,
For those seconds,

In your arms,


Off the clock.