We wanted to slice      ourselves in equal halves

for ghosts that possessed our pasts,

who never apologized —

never locked eyes in the ballroom of our heart,

 

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But the heart eventually shape-shifts

into the body's forgotten patterns,

the tongue swallows all that is bitter

                       until the hands grasp another clock

in the dark silence of the ballroom.

 

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                         We spin seconds around our spindled skins

                                      until our forefingers lock

                                      like the syllables of rain.

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                                   Between two of your letters

                                             you slipped in

                                     a page as white as noon,

 

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this is where we shall paint

                             our bright orange tango through life.

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                                 The horizon of your hands—

                                                sundown

                                     on my shoulder-valley,

                                 what do we name ourselves?

 

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Turn off the lights, darling

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we will practise how to never

                                     step on each other’s toes

 

and yet learn their softness by heart

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here

 

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                               and

 

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                                                               there

 

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                                          My arm

a question mark around your waist,

we will measure our steps with summer haibuns

 

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                               This is how we will answer the night —

    arms swaying to the secret rhythm of stars,

                              our banalities gift-wrapped with laughter.