Broken Synchrony

Enraptured, hearts beat

one-and-two-and-one-and-

two people incessantly

captured, frame after frame

by strobe lights, splitting

seconds, emitting

cartoons of real humans.

Each successive shot

each obsessive swing

of slick hair and hip

make her feet glide

front step back step turn

step across the floor

and collide with his

until his hand is

clutching her side

and his fingers lock

with hers, and for

a second they're breathing

the same sticky air.

His start-up smiles, his

charming lines and

screamy what's-your-name?

and where-you-from?

conversations don't hint

any trepidation -

she even thinks maybe

this guy has a bit of

class in his moves

on the liquor-shined tiles,

but the move he makes next

is a different style:

a bit of force on the small

of her back he presses

and messes

up her rhythm,

making them face-to-

resisting-face so she says

the usual “no-please

-just-dancing” line once then

twice waiting for his eyes

to stop looking so

strangely enticed.

She shakes her head

tries to loosen the arm he's

got clamped tight

around her waist but

dammit he moves closer and

closer because right now he

thinks that he knows her

but I'd like to make a bet

that he only knows

her silhouette.