I like the pull and squeak of it, warm flesh on the floor, And the tap, the clack, the body twisting into turns, Skeleton of skin, the breath and sigh of it, rubbed red at the heels And a stretch of black, the slick of the spandex, the toe Twisted tight as rope, pulled quicker by the sound, The call and response of it, and the face is flushed Slicked now with sweat as the music picks up, pulling pace With the hot mush of breath, beat and rhythm in the pink, And the blood pulsing it out, heart fast and the mouth gulps, The arc and glide of it, a whooshing of air Like the first screaming breaths rattling a new baby’s lungs, The hospital, at the end of April, the room hot and cold at once.