I woke up beside you; small dots of light immersed your face bleeding in from the Venetian blinds. We danced atop your bare mattress only hours before. That thick proud military chest rising and falling, my fragile mind lay resting between your broad roped arms and the crevice in your shoulder. That spot was meant for my figure to lie perfectly. We dance. Your patriotic hands embraced the curves of my soul while you exhale euphoria. Your eyes distill in themselves, motionless, and closed. Running my finger tips across the small hair on your lower abdominals in that moment I knew we would forget.

My independent headstrong activist attitude made me everything you never wanted. Opposites are drawn; you and I are the beauty of difference and tolerance. We dance. Our anatomy was broken and beautiful you strive for perfection while I strive to embrace our flaws. Something beautiful is being broken, the blocked digital eight projected neon blue on the white ceiling reading seven forty-nine. Your noose roped me closer to you while my eyes drifted and rolled in their own filth. We dance.

My string bean figure and orphan hands looking for a home found one in you but the Venetian blinds are swaying and collecting dust. Myself, I can’t stop moving only for a home I won’t collect dust like you. Soon, I’ll dance alone gather my things and do an awful awkward dance through your big red door. The constant under my feet keep me changing. Beautiful, we dance alone again.