under sky, under moon
silk sand breezes
up the shoreline, past the dunes, the sea oats,
we sit on army green canvas chairs
that fold up neatly,
drink deep the ocean weary sighs.
lanterns bobble to the breezes cut time
under lights, under stars–
lumber out of rhythm
(no amount of liquor
erases our white dance mama skills)
you pulse to the beat of the disco ball
finger pointed straight up, whole arm swings down, back up and again.
i hear the humming of hip movements, imagine my flip-flops to heels
in the night, i dream of long red skirts twirling out
a sultry voice repeating:
samba, samba, samba.
we laugh and collapse into our chairs
and our familiar song.
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