He is propped on all fours
when I arrive -
almond eyes grave,
face strangely serious.
I smile and say hello.
He doesn't respond at first
but continues to stare -
like a deer
cautious, intent.
I kneel before him
(not too close)
and show him my new red nails.
He moves a little closer
I pick him up
and press his warm, sunny body
against mine.
He doesn't resist
and for several minutes
not a sound passes between us.
Later at the tavern
he laughs, hiding his lips.
I have abandoned my new pink glasses.
He has my chin in his mouth.
I carry him to the dance floor
His laughter is infectious.
We glide across the parquetry,
Dean Martin spins on the turntable.
Alison Cassidy
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dancing-with-dylan/
