My Perspective From the Inside Out

Inside Out

Inside looking out,

the footsore dancers prance and preen

pivoting on heels of glass

along lines of lessons

they’ve forgotten they learned

before they chose to dance.

 

Inside looking out

I watch,

cup my hands

around the steady flame of my existence,

and remember a breath of laughter,

sultry sweet and humming,

behind your words.

 

Inside looking out,

I touch the tender purple-blue edges

of our collision

and marvel at your devotion

to the intricate steps

seducing you from the stillpoint

of your own soft-spoken truth.