X. Sonnets of Dancer
Smoothing glissades sweep away the days
of bursting periwinkle kaleidoscopically
sealing a brain of unfettered frays
into knots that burst: radiculopathy
of the longer limbs, feeling appendages’
cut-short-discourse before those legs I love
could sense a swarm encroaching adagios
of bright pink warmth trapped in allegro blood.
I sought finer reasons to escape dendritic pores,
sifted my mind totally only to feel its callous burn
against my heart, while frictional propinquinty sores
might one day a better dancer make when I learn
to touch, in time, before that rhythm escapes my own
pulse, tombé, deeply until I have into my bones grown.