XVII. Sonnets for Dancer

Should my heart no longer throb,

our breathing still, your being long

for echoes gone, the thoughts abscond

‘fore the pas de deux en tournant:

ease me in, don’t think it through

shorter than our song, now unruled

as meters read, compositions due

from the kindness of your soul, full

with moments remaining, twirls unspent,

tears, searing toes, frozen-to-place

fears unspun, your newly coiled intent

held as deeply as your lovely first face is

cast into my heart, forever resounding

from first palpitation, our love of lauding.