The Dance

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When we dance I would feel
free among the birds flying
high in the air soaring
higher, spinning, sometimes slipping
on the slick floor and he would catch
me in his arms, softly laughing
at me, calling me silly
though I wasn’t trying to be funny
he loved me anyway, echoing in
my ears, soul, and in his heart
where I would hear the rhythm  
sync up with the music that pushed
us, or caressed us, healing
the black wounds, absence whose solitude
was a stinging bee on my
heart, and now, I dance on the ballroom floor
and feel the presence of love
I know for sure is there.






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