Your whispers in French
made me forget
I don't know how to dance.
And I wondered,
if he could smell your raspberry bubble bath skin
would Louis Armstrong sing just for you
like you sang just for me
in the corner where we built our blanket fort,
where the lamp on the floor
was the only light in the room
besides the one in your eyes
whenever I spun you around
And I just know
if I had a voice like his
we would still be dancing.