The old lover

handsome in that rugged way

comes to your table

holds out his hand

and asks you to dance.


You know you can follow

that ancient desire

into his arms

two-step across the scuffed wood floor

intoxicated by a mind-fogging cologne.


But then you remember

how, in his aggressiveness,

he steps on your toes

twirls you

and flings you across the room.


You recall that jittery discomfort

the excitement hangover the next day,

and the remorse

over those

you slammed into.


So instead you call on the Beloved

smile and decline the offer.

You move into the Comforting Arms

and waltz in the smooth, floating glory

of love.

Image by Amalesh Krien

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