No amorous play
with the high engendered by flirtations with the self.
brush light, feather fingers across its skin,
swear with wonder to its extraordinariness.
When it greedily begins to lap it all up, asking for more,
When it bites the bait,
steps outside ‘itself’
and goes on
to do what you had fed into its imagination,
a noisy high-five,
while it grins from ear to ear
in shy, incredulous happiness.
Then get together,
throw back your head
with the blood rushing to your head.
Heady, heady delight.
I hope you dance.
when you walk.
when you dance.
First published in Metaphor Magazine, 17 February 2014.