Reminders of the Way it Is

The hourglass shape
of my hip moves to my waist,
the small of my back, sighs patiently,
gasps where a partner's hand
gathers the body in,
guides me

onto the dance floor
of all dance floors
and claims me;
no time absently lapses,
leaves me wondering
which direction to move

I sway, an eel in the surf,
hoping to swim to safety
to where the sun slants through
the clear blue-green
and makes us laugh
at the silly sun
and how she counts
day after day
the beauty of skin
and hair
and all that
disappearing
blood.