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May 2019
There’s a reason why
dancing under moonlight is a cliche.
The euphoria is relentless

Pink behind the rising moon
Your hipbone beneath my right hand
knees clash to Latin percussion
Together we count  
1 2 3…5 6 7

Trading vulnerabilities over pork and pasta,
I feel, for one awful moment,
The pain of my daughter’s contempt
You reassure a mother after being kicked by her child

Supine silence on yellow grass mats. Faint from heat
I feel sad when you recount
how I charged your phone first
You deserve kindness.  I am kind
1 2 3…5 6 7

Your laugh resounds above all
A solo from the audience
As proud and loud as any Jazzman’s improvisation  
encouraging is all to do better
1 2 3…5 6 7

Earthy smell of your skin spread across the sheets
Curled up with tan litheness, I watch
green block letters rise and fall.
Wishing it was more than breath propelling them up and down,
I curse my own heart for swelling
Written by
P I Watson  M/Boston
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