In the slow dance
it is easier to work as our bodies
Come together
paper and pen
no concern nor reward
Composing is not the goal
but as the body moves
under the purposeful hands
charged and yearning
we cut the leash
you create me against your thighs
Filled with images
moving through our words countless
Swaying rhythms
write into flesh
the poem
we make
Babs Work In Progress 