A Pas de deux

Sharp turns, 

Bright smile,

Pointed feet,

Beautiful face,

Tall posture,

Straight arms,

Technique. 

"It's all about the technique."

They said. 

Constantly. Screams in my 

ear. 

Doubts of skill, 

of capabilities. 

"Hair up, watch the posture!" 

Whispers in the corner. 

Judges, teachers, watching 

my every skin. 

Old shoes, 

grey in color,

worn-out, 

exhausted. 

Two injuries to the leg,

A forced smile, 

A lust for sunsets. 

Wrapped the shoes in 

bandages. Enough, for 

the grand finale. 

Carried by the wind, 

two strong arms, brown in

color, defined. 

Up, and up I go. 

Look up, chin up, fingers up. 

Like an angel. 

"Move the hands, sharply.

With the music. 

Relaxed, yet strong."

Down I go, back to the chest. 

A face, two eyes, brown lips. 

Tall posture, hands meet,

Pirouettes, Assemblé, Plié. 

Stop. 

"Turn to look, elegantly. Fall in love."

Grande Jeté. Tour en l'air. 

A Pas de deux. In perfect sync. 

He looks past me. Past my eyes,

past my soul. 

I stare at him. Directly. Entering his

very orbit. Exploring the chocolate of

his orbs. 

Relishing his scent, the drops of sweat 

dripping from his brow. 

Back down I fall. 

A final Panché. 

Staring up, leaning

towards him. 

Him. Staring at him. 

In a closet while I, 

savor the bitterness

of a Pas de deux.