She loved to dance,
the music didn't matter much
It was the feeling,
freedom, surrendering,

I think it was a way of communicating for her
A switch of the hips,
tap of the foot or snap of the wrist 
Illustrated her innermost feelings

I could never read dance
So for me it was only ever an obscure but intimate moment shared

Spoken words are my tools and I amplified my pointed but spinning feelings often and in person,

With no music playing, no time to reflect or poetry to serve as a conduit,
She would freeze and struggle in the immediacy of my spoken words,

These tools constructed small wonders leaving her still
For all the wrong reasons

Dissonance grew beneath the roof of these wonders
Breaching the walls,  
always at nightfall,

We were slaves to our mediums
Our mediums enslaved us
 
She never knew the steps I was shuffling in were mimicking hers,
I didn't know the routine and her music muffled my words leaving them weak, 

Hindsight, reason and honesty our last chance to dance and speak.