CATHERINE STANSFIELD

I want to dance with you
between the lines of a record
so each shuffle of our feet can
be a scratch to hide the sound

of my shoes scuffing the dance floor,
always too flat-footed for ballet
slippers, and we’ll dance in the light
of the moon and the shadows of the

sun and in our pajamas that feel
like your tuxedo and my white
gown, God as our only witness,
because your voice is the melodic

waxing moon to my blocked
ear drums and the swing of your
body is the current to my ocean
and we have legs and we have arms

so we might as well dance until the
punchline of our bodies isn’t funny
and instead spells out the word love
without needing any words at all