Drunk-again skin against coffee-blasted morning moments; those three words spilling like water from a wisdom-toothless mouth.
I could’ve know you, dancer, and your shadow, but my heart is tied to another. You, dancer, circling me, balance-beam steps carrying pointed, levitating toes. Stirring me in the pot you writ (with grace). An earbud or an invitation dangles. On your tiptoes, on your heels, on your tiptoes in the street light bathing breath in the air. A triangle from your base to mine. I could’ve known you, shadow, and your dancer, rising to tickle these city-ridden shoes and this city-ridden boy, stoked by your shrinking away, tempted by your rise.