rdking.net

Collected Poetry

    (rd king dot net)
poetry and digital art

Beating Heart, Dancing Feet  

  Dancing Feet 


I want to visit your house.  I want to see
your place of habit and feel the walls
and move idly through the rooms
that you live.  I want to sit
on your couch and watch TV, eventually
resting my feet on the coffee table
as we chat.  When you leave to boil some tea
I follow, now admiring your china.  I smell
the fruit ripening in a bowl and also,
after drifting into a darkened den,
read the titles on your bookshelf, head
cocked, head bobbing, before I excuse myself
to seek the privacy of your bathroom.  On my way,
I glance in your bedroom to see the pillows
on your bed before returning to your kitchen,
ashamed, where I smile at you.  Music arrives
as if a gift from some kindly background.

I ask you to tell me how everything
happens.  I want to know what you know.
Absorbed, kinetic, I look out the window
while hearing your views—and then I see
what you see.  I agree it is simple
and ask for the details.  I ponder your worries
and consider the frankness of your questions.
Yes:  I sit in your kitchen, with its exact
place in the universe, and move through the starry
night while sitting alone and talking with you.

Hearing your heartsongs I soon feel
rakish; then I confess—faltering,
wary, broken by the thought itself:   godliness
fills my being with a lowercase 'g' (and my feet
move).  Breaking the silence I suggest
to you an unsteadiness to my presence.
I submit that I cannot cease this display
of feet and movement.  Nor can I suppress
the plain holiness of my being, this longing
which causes you to blush.  I offer profuse
apologies and purse my lips.  I set the teacup
upon the saucer and begin the long wait
for you to consider.  And then, when your eyes
have risen again to touch with mine, I take one
of your hands and place it in mine.  I ask
the question you have invited me to ask:
let's dance.



        back | ToC

© 2015 rdking