You float over the concrete
the way driftwood rides the ocean waves,
smooth and graceful.
Your arms rise to the sky
in sync with your legs
like a puppet,
but you hold your own strings,
you control your own movements
so seamlessly
as if you were born
with a board beneath your feet.
Your eyes hold focus
how a starving man
holds a scrap of bread,
not fully moldy in the garbage.
You spin and swap your body
with the lash of a whip
and how I wish you'd crack me
just once
so I could taste your precision.
How beautiful a sight it is
to see someone so perfectly aligned
with the Earth
that gravity allows you a pass
on the rules.
And when you're finished
the passion that beams from you
is so intoxicating,
I'm too unsteady on my feet
to try to follow.