dance me your self.

We can fight this good fight
without being
porcelain waiting lady
processed plastic soldier.

Woollen children,
we are wild,
otherworldly in an intentionally
haphazard sort of way

(just what i wanted).


Fears of (im)perfection,
yes!
This direction,
or fall?
But the beauty of warmth is listen:

We are already there,
already one in focus,
faltering only in finding
shared rhythm in a dance we know so well.

Teach me your movement
give me your song
send me your message
dance me your self,
fill me.

- December 30, 2009