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The clubs fall tonight, the neon burns and the floor's heaving, a maze of bodies.

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But that's just part of the challenge.

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Then I see you across the other side of the floor.

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As a new track starts up, you start to move.

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I see a gap and I slide onto the other side of the floor.

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My own hips sway, my own feet stepping.

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And we start off so far apart, and we move so differently, but that is also just part of the challenge.

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And we slowly move to the center of the floor.

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And so do I, our magnetic poles seeking each other out.

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And as we drift and as we move, our bodies seek each other's rhythm.

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Where we once danced alone, my sway moves to match yours, your footsteps to match mine.

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And we move closer, and we make our bodies' rhythms match each other's rhythms more.

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Until we step and glide in harmony.

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And where your body is, mine isn't.

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And where mine slips aside, yours fills.

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And even though we do not move identically, we so match each other's pattern that we are a single thing.

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We shadow dance.

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And a guy steps in and tear cardio as an honest, take-me-out-and-shoot-me-maternalist chest.

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And he swings his arms, and he stamps his feet, and he comes between us, but we spin away, each to a different far corner of the floor.

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And he stands there, his fake goat, like his fake chest hair, and I smile.

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But the record stops, and another starts, and the beat changes, and I sway, and I move, and you sway, and you move, and we begin again.

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Until, once more, we are just one single dance.

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And we never speak, and we never touch, and we step, and we glide, and the neon burns.

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We are shadows.

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And we dance.

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I hear them sometimes.

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How this one will say to that one how they see us here so often.

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How we never speak, never go, looking for the bar, and excuses to touch, to kiss, and to find some shed bed, they think.

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But they say, each to the other, how long we must practice to dance our shadow stepping.

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And I smile.

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Because they don't have the front, the back, the east, the west, and north, the south, and up, down.

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Because this is the practice.

33
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So the truer dance can be.

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And when the night is done, we don't find some shed cab, or walk some wood path together.

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We're late, each alone.

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And I walk, and I see the night again, each step in my head, each misstep in my head.

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And I walk, and I dance again in my head, and I set those missteps right, and my sway matches your slip.

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And your turn matches my spin, until it is there, the door.

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And I unlock it, and I open it, and I go in, and you are there.

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You are there, you are there, and your clothes are long since lost.

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And I smile, but we do not say a word, and we do.

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And I'll slip my skirt, and I'll button my blouse, and I'll kick off my heels and unsnap my bra.

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And I'll slip my panties down, my stockings the same, and we'll wear skin.

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And where the club was allowed music and bright neon, this place is our place.

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And we need none of other.

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The candles you lit before a ride will burn, and they will cast their flickers.

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We begin to move, and as we move, we create new breezes to dance those flickers whose silent shadows cast about us.

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And still we do not touch, for the brush of your hand's straight cock on my pussy hair is not a touch.

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And if I spin, and the very tips of strands of my long hair brush your chest, and stir your own hard nipples,

50
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then there is no touch either.

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And we step, and we glide, and where you are I am not, and where I am you slip past.

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And we are one shadow, one dance, one being, and each breath we take is a part of the dance.

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Yours whispers, oh, my nipple, my nipple burns, as mine slips over your lip.

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And your kiss sits pulsing as a paper whip, and stands between your thigh and my pussies,

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your steps so briefly between my spread legs.

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And as my hand drifts from some ear to some there, and my fingers flutter past your cock,

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I curl into a brief grip that never touches you, and I slide along your length, and you stiffen more,

58
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for our skins never kiss, not ever quiet.

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And we shadow dance, and as we dance, as you are here, and I slip there, my cup gets wetter.

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And as we dance, I see the beads of sweat pre-come almost from the tip of you.

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And we dance, and we dance, and we move closer and closer, and more and more in harmony,

62
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and we twine about each other, though still we never touch,

63
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and we move closer and more close until our feet stand set, and only our bodies sway,

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and the paper whip between us burns, and the fire that burns it is in us both,

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and our skin stripped close at last kiss.

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And we touch, and if you fall back, and your cock is so hot and high,

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and I fall over you and take you and me, and I ride you on your thrust, then that is part of the dance.

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Or if I fall, and the bed is near, and my legs spread, and my knees rise,

69
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and your cock finds whichever hole it best fits for that moment of the dance,

70
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then that is as our shadow wills.

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For it is not the here or the there, the this or that, the tap of A and slot of B.

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We are shadows, and we dance, and the candle flicker and the shadows about us cut us close,

73
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and the music returns to a silent mound.

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It is gasp and shudder, and we dance some more, until gasp shudder more, and we're not shadows.

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We are shadow, and it is in us, and not even a whiff of paper separates our souls.

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And we sleep, and there is not one part of you sleeping that is not a part of me,

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and not one part of me that is not bound to you and part of you.

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And we sleep, and we are us, until we awake, and the world takes us, and we do what we must do.

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But we smile through all its doing, for we know the shadows are never far away.

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The clubs fool tonight.