We were playing games with cherries or at least I was, we were
terrified or at least I was, I traded in my white Russian for your
amaretto sour, my old-fashioned for your Manhattan, everything
was different now. You don’t dance; I can’t not. My therapist smiles
gently in her chair and says, it’s magical, attraction, when it happens,
to see that sparkle in another person’s eyes and know you put it there.
The last thing I remember is swimming out in the dark towards
open water. The next thing I remember is beach patrol’s flashlight
in my face. So will you play with me? Can I lure, entice you, pull
you onto the dancefloor, out among the pairs of caballeros in tired
boots and jeans, the drag queens, teens, the vampire ballerinas?
They light us up with purple dry ice when they play Prince. Once
Nirvana played this club. Once Joy Division was live here. Once I
wasn’t this situationshipped, had reserves of hope, of givingness,
had a belief in tomorrows with beer-sticky tiles, brimful red cups.
If I’m supposed to be driving us home we’re in trouble, can barely
find residential parking only because I hate being towed, a legal
stealing of your car. How can I get you to move with me. What will
it take to free your hair from its braid and let it fly, dark shy cloud
around your face. You can keep your eyes closed if that would help,
little almendra, little cerise. You can dance here with anyone else.