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.