dance class (ii)

You belong to me now, with your
inadequate shoes and your
energetically applied cologne and the
awkward angles of your arms

For 90 minutes a week you are
my refuge, my solid familiarity. I know
your stomachs and the muscles behind
your knees and whether you smile
with your eyes

I can’t remember what you do for
a living but I share your breath and we
sweat cheerfully on one another’s ears

And quietly, in amongst the off-beats and
the trodden-on toes and the mild
hysteria, you have become the place I go to
learn to make mistakes

and I think perhaps I love you, just
a little,
because of that.

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