The Real Dance

A stranger’s eyes
dance with mine
as I’m handing him his cash.
But he and his ripped-back pocket
leave before we can exchange numbers.
Before ever getting to say “Hello”.
And like the arrival of time,
he comes as quickly as he goes.
My weary eyes follow him
as he exits through automatic doors
disappearing forever
leaving me behind with a curious heart.
And that’s how life is now.
My eyes dance with a worthy component
but never touching.
People making sure to stay
six feet apart from love,
six feet away from exchanging,
warm goodbyes and hello’s
afraid to get close to one another.
But as I glance back at my prom photo
I remembered
how it felt to be touched.
My date’s warm hands lightly grasp
my shoulders
and I could feel the buoyant butterflies
arise, in the pit of my core.
The exchange of soft glances.
The sweetness of his voice
ringing softly in my ears.
My nose bathing
in the sweet smell of his cologne,
feeling the humming of his heartbeat
against mine.
Not afraid to make two hearts
touch.