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.