Vertigo Dance

By April M. Fecca (Kali Nichta)

I sit in front of the monitor,
lights glaring,
rays reflecting off my face.
You sleep in the grass,
surrounded by the trees,
and the bay of the coyotes
as they hunt the hills.

If I could come to you now,
somehow slip myself inside of you
and pull you around me . . .
Feel your hair
and your skin
and the warmth of your soul,
And feel your breath
reciprocating mine . . .

But it is strange.
I don't know you.
A few words exchanged over the lines,
some of them sweet,
some of them coaxing laughter from my belly,
some of them raising fires lower still.
And yet you, still unknown to me,
me still unknown to you.

We have never touched skin,
tangled hair,
shared breath,
never even seen one another in real time.

And I fear that I rush forward too fast,
and that, in my running,
I will run past you.
Or I will rush to the spot where I believe I see you
and find nothing there.

So hard to see in this early haze.
So hard to know which road to take,
and there is no speed limit sign.

I swing forward
and fall back
in a vertigo dance,
waiting for my partner
to take my hand.