— Barbara Saxton
The dance devoid of danger is a bore.
A woman wants to partner with a man
whose lead is strong, whose hold is kind but sure;
who transports her to lands no one else can.
You take my hand, I feel your fingers fall
on muscles in my back that crave this touch.
I’m ready to respond to any call,
resistance beating back, but not too much.
If stronger, you might slam me to the floor,
pummel my flanks with your black pointed boot.
The threat of harm excites me even more;
I follow leads, yet prance in hot pursuit.
As in all things, the goal is not to cling.
Treat each dance as a brief melodic fling.