A Ripened Dance

By Phen Weston and Benjamin Grossman

I dance to the writhen

Nature of her nightly beat,

Dedicated zigzags of passion,

Playing high fidelity with

The rap-a-tap-tap of her feet.

What am I to her?

An empty chalice?

Distorted ornament?


Can she not view

The devotion hidden

Behind my movements?

Must I un-look

To see?

Must I un-dream

To be?

Must I unlove her

In order to love rightly?


The beat picks up, kicks in,

Instinct flourishes within,

Do her variations need response

When the rhythm sounds to me?

Tribal, jungle, primal,

My reverberations cha-cha-cha

To my soul and I am known

To me, I see through

Her desires and needs,


I am the treble clef

I am the whole of fragments

I am the yes within the no

I am the one of two

I am myself born in common time


The heat rises, decisive,

Her naked heart sneaks a peek

And her body moves

To my new beat,

A wolf emerges

To tango his prey,

Instead of hers, she is mine,

And we dance the night away,

Until it is ripe

With the scent

Of us.


(This is part of a collaborative poetic effort between myself and Benjamin Grossman. Make sure and check out his beautiful poetry and blog here.)

© Phen Weston 2014 & © Benjamin Grossman 2014


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