when we get tired of tangoing with hatred and resentment,
we’re stolen for a ceili by affection and fondness,
but then the music dies out and born back
as a nameless flow of something
that can be danced in any formation,
as well as solo,
where there’s no-one left to push or pull.
ocean does this brilliantly, already, by the way.
try it. no manuals required. no manners. no maneuvers.