written by: Karem Barratt
Step by step,
Little by little,
A small hip shake,
Half smile, entwining fingers
Toes, towers of power
As they guide, back and front,
To the side, my waist
The compass to your bod,
Your torso teasing mine,
My heart echoing yours as we twirl,
touch, move back, your hand,
at my lower back, the mast
to the sails of my thighs, wiggling to
the music around us, our eyes,
playing, flirting, pretending
is just a dance and there is
no wormhole of pure
energy oscillating between our profiles,
the time-warp turning our bodies into Ss and Rs,
Serpents up and down a rod, Caribbean
Breeze and wind becoming hurricane,
And you know and I know,
That little by little, bit by bit,
We become explorers
Of the landscapes that make us, us,
You and I, gorges and valleys, mounds
And plains, jungles and forests. Caves.
A whole new planet forged from your
Earthquakes and my floods. Or
Is it the other way around? Round
And round, the sand, the sky, the sea,
The drum inside our weathered shells,
Some ancestral song pushing blood
And sweat and kisses, erecting
Hills, orchestrating moans, calling
Down the moon, the stars, the sun.
You and I, one step to the back, one to the front,
Shimer, swirl, embrace, turn, confront,
Surrender, two, one, none, any,
Stump, stamp, swish, swag,
Step to the front, step to the back,
Super nova, big bang,
The first molecule, expanding universe.
Little by little.
Step to the front, to the back,
Two to the left, two to the right.
Slowly we start and then
We call the wild, Bacchus, Bacchae,
Initiations form time immemorial,
Woman, man, Tarzan, Jane,
You, I, beach, sea, sunset.
Eyes crossed, crossed legs,
Spaced pumped out between
Us. Einstein and relativity.
One step to the front, one step to the back.
Flesh melting, breath deepening, breaking,
Summoning angels and demons
From the inners of our bones,
Ready to merge and explode and float
Into the nothingness of a lasting note
That goes on and on, the wild tamed,
The gods serviced, the slumber settling in,
Little by little, a nook, an arm, a back
Moulding to a chest and the night,
Pregnant with cicada songs and the murmurs
Of waves. Tomorrow will be what it will be.
Tonight is the faint echo of trumpets and
Bongos, the party far behind, the sand,
You and I, your hand cupped in mine.
And nothing else matters.