He watched her back a long time. Her soft sway
kept slow time steadily, his metronome.
Her elastic music measured his day.
Not a dancing creature, his mother would say,
he herked and jerked stiff as a moon
clock. Her soft back was long, a controlled sway
was her weapon of choice. She liked to play
roles: child, temptress, wayward wife whose next home
was elastic as music. All working days
bored her. His hot gaze was modeling clay
her cool hands enjoyed. He lived on his own.
She watched him back. The swift time held soft sway
over each of his steps. Her eyes delayed
his dreaming self and her diva mask loaned
him elastic music. He measured days—
rationing them. He was trying to save
her like coins but knew she’d remain unknown.
He watched her, lost in time, her soft sway
stretched musically through his measured days.