I want to dance with you in the thickness

of a city-lit summer night,

in parking lot or street,

in makeshift ballroom with floor of asphalt

and walls of nothing more than


and orange/white/orange horses.

Let our souls rise together on waves of wine, heat, and song.


I want to dance with you in the thick of the summer night,

head half-gone with the drink.

I want to come to you, naked beneath my dress;

with a brush of your hand

you bare my breast, my thigh, my…mind.

Let our souls rise together.


I want to dance with you.

There is a temperature at which the world holds still.

Halfway between

the sacred cool of an October evening, and

the profane warmth of a July night,

it separates each sound and breath from the next,

creating a staccato of solitude.

Let us rise.


(This poem was inspired by the World’s Largest Block Party. I’ve only attended it twice, but it was glorious both times.)


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