You stitch the seams unruly,
Glide the cloth onto your frame with care
And move calm through a swirl of moving bodies
With a wink and a blown kiss
In a slow spin that resembles gambling.
Your movements are slow motion flowers,
And the cloth explodes around your skin in bursts of color
Like you are wearing the fourth of July on your back.
When your eyes introduced themselves to mine I became
Bored with everything that wasn't you.
There are no fairy tales.
You are true.
I have seen you.
And you are true.