The Dream of the Dance Floor

My tequila lover,

I first saw you through the earthquake shakes

of the heart rumbling music that night.

I thought it was my own thirsty

heart doing the work, but

I thought wrong, I saw you

and I saw you

and my mind still loops back

to the picture of you–

tall, slouchy, patchy in splashes

of neon light and holding a drink

and drinking and dancing

and touching, me touching you,

I think this is how it went.

Our bodies kissed but not our

mouths and my face swam

in the pupil of your

eye as it spun, searching,

ravaging my features

for some echo of the girl

you had once dreamed of

meeting on a dark dance floor.

But I knew, you see, I knew that

I was not the girl of your drunken dreams,

no matter what you told me.