After John Mayer’s Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

by Kailyn Bondoni

Hand on hip swaying to the beat Of the rum in our throats swimming In our heads and humming memories Over the sounds of a box fan.

It’s a dance on a minefield. A waltz through this fire. Too warm to be cooled By the silly fan in the corner.

You grab my hand and stitch it To yours like you’re saying That you love me, but no Words exchange.

This is a dance, not a conversation. It’s not a promise I’m looking for, But the part of me that knows that Is six feet under the rum and stomach acid

The dance is a stumble. It’s as much beautiful As it is mistake-Too soon too soon.

We drift to the dance floor-Not ready, not set. You dip me down and let go, And I fall through the floor

Kissing hollow wood, Precious empty sentiments

I ask you why you ever quit, And you tell me you hate yourself.

Imagine a dancer so lovely, So loving, hating his own feet. I’d like so much that you’d see me On the dance floor again.

Step around the box fan. Slip ice cubes from Your lips into mine. We’re cool.

Let’s try something Just as casual, my lead. Something like swing. Somewhere like home.