the art of dance

Bold red.

Click-clacks

Upon a hard wooden floor.

Certain dashes

Landing strikes

None can think to abhor.

You look at me, and I at the door.

We move together.

They chant for more.

A swerve, a dip,

Then a jolt of your hip.

Your arms on my shoulders

And your waist in my grip.

I twirl you,

We smile,

We paint our path

Mark every mile.

The perfect stance,

A golden chance,

Join me,

Why don’t you?

In the art of dance.

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