I memorized each way she moved,
he told me, his aging hand
letting his tea tremble.

I would always find her shoulders
and her little wine birthmark
in the sea of small red dresses,
when the band played something quick.
His toe tapped to an invisible dance,
a-one-two, three-four, one-two, three-four.

The room was always hot
and it always smelled of excitement,
he continued, with a reminiscent grin.

She'd turn with a nervous swish,
like nothing I could ever understand,
and I never did,
how she made it look so ******* graceful,
but we'd dance like the room was empty.
We'd bump into everyone.
He laughed, a tired rumble.

Once I got hit and got a ****** nose.
I didn't even notice,
because she was electric.
I loved the shock.
His eyebrows creased
into a devilish satisfaction.

The swing dance shock.