It is the way, when we are about walking,
I hobble 'round your knuckles playfully
That will almost make your palm and mine ring.

I'd say it happens most in public places,
A rose within our cheeks and still
(Because for flowers we can all say less)

And too because it's best, on eyes unknown,
For candor's sake that, simply, we explain
How man and wo are in their one limb owned.

So we are solved and so we pass the boutique,
Where music comes boxed, with enamel slaves
(We'd poke fun and topple Miss Angelique.)

Next lotions, and the linenshop for beds,
The jeweler and their pouches full of gold;
At last a Sears all lined with white toolsheds.

But coming on the court, our eyes anoint.
In orchestrate some thirty men, their play
Of High-fives and gyring movements made waypoint.

One brother gives his fellow, from the wrist
Their formal cheer, the next step presents quick
Their backbones, two per line in wistful twist.

Like this the dance would pattern, taunt, and wait.
We studied each patrol on how to pass,
Then favour seemed to catch your hand away.

Although for us the dance always emboldens,
To palm my nameless brothers I would not
And so at your entrance I was beholden;

The first you take, and all kindred slow.
I see it in your eyes, another soul.
Possessed, she is breathless: already aglow.

Their sister finds her freedom, quick to lament
A gentleman who pushes your release
But touch increased, moreover and again.

One looses where another breaks,
One catches where his fellow drops--
The latches of a dancer's mistake,

I swallow while I can with curious brows
When soon the fellies dance too fast to match,
When one fellow swings you about the prow.

From patient vantage one can easily see
The curt distance between each sealing trade.
The frequency becomes so deafening.

Around full comes my companion at last
Around, from here, we will make our escape.
Our eyes meet and your hot-gloveless I catch.

The pain -- the unexpected, piercing slap
Which strikes my hand, pulls back a failed rescue.
Betrayed, you thought we'd make a lovely clap.

It's harsh, I know. But my god, woman, wait.
Just stop a moment, appreciate the space
When your hand empties and the dance abates
If only to admire your steps unfaced.