Graphic by Anastacia Kellogg
Dance with me darling,
I don’t care who’s looking.
I am a man, I am a woman,
I am fluidity and impulse and I impulsively decided to love you,
You were hesitance and softly-treaded words,
But those words settled so deeply.
Dance with me darling,
I strive to hold everything together even when I’m the one falling apart;
You let me be a mess.
I shrug off layers upon layers of the masks I wear to survive, my true face soft to your touch.
Dance with me darling,
I’m bad at rhythm,
In life, in sound,
I am missteps and broken habit.
But swaying and holding you close?
I become graceful.
Dance with me darling,
I confess to you all the things that make me ashamed to exist,
Yet you more than accept me…
I still get awestruck by the fact that you love me.
I’m so used to seeing strained obligatory smiles that don’t quite reach the eyes when who I am breaks through the “normal”
I brace myself and look at yours…
And see only faith and warmth.
Dance with me darling.
Bodies close,
Whispered words,
Stolen kisses,
Tender touches.
I brush your hair out of your face,
A small moment where I just belong.
I trace the freckles along your jaw with my thumb,
I listen to the swish of our dresses together,
Or will I be more masculine that day?
I have a hand on the small of your back,
Your hands go from my shoulders to interlaced behind my neck.
I touch my forehead with yours,
An affectionate headbutt.
As butterflies flutter wildly in my abdomen, I laugh.
Question pops into your sometimes green, blue, grey, iridescent eyes.
“I’m ticklish.” I say.