Perhaps by Megan Windom
Just one more spin and I may lose my head.
I already feel a hitch in my chest.
Is it from the dancing, though? Or perhaps
because of this man, Adams…no, Daniel.
Good thing he has such a firm grip on me,
otherwise my cold toes would give me up
and he might suggest we run away where
the water can’t reach us.
I like the sand.
I can see every step we’ve taken.
Over there where the sand is dry and soft,
it looks like a series of tiny dunes.
But at that line, where the moisture is still
clinging on, and my heels lay abandoned,
the prints of his shoes and my toes are sharp.
The circles we’ve been dancing will remain
etched into the earth. At least until the
next high tide rolls in and washes it clean.
I’m sure if my sister could see us now
she would be pinching her mouth while dying
to ask: Do you think you’re in love with him?
Oh, dear Sister, what a silly notion
you do have. As if it matters at all!
Perhaps I don’t know. Even while he breathes
in my ear and whispers into my neck
Perhaps another glass of that red wine
will clarify why my head is spinning,
why his eyes drink in my crimson dress and
his hand inches closer to my zipper.
Perhaps I can’t say. I couldn’t say if
I love him, but I like him well enough.
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