I think
all the hairspray
must have stopped logical thoughts
from entering my head,
or my dress cut off circulation
to my brain.
Because I feel myself
walking towards you
on a whim,
as the DJ cues up the next song.
But I can't be.
Because I'm a person who
watches from a
distance,
near only in my
thoughts.
So I know
I wouldn't let my arm
reach out,
elbow unbending, finger
pointing,
to tap you on the shoulder,
like it just did.
You turn, expecting to find
your date
but get a replacement,
two years younger.
Confusion flashes once
before you accept my offer
to dance.
And then that rebel arm of mine
slides up and around
your neck,
meeting the other,
resisting the temptation
to make a detour through your
hair.
We awkwardly sway,
our bodies staying
close,
but our eyes running
from each other.
Mine in nervousness,
yours in confusion
of this unknown girl.
Then the song
dissolves
and my lips free a whispered
"Thanks"
as I fall away before
you can say a
word, left only with the
thought of this
anonymous dance.