On first being led

Our palms greet as I set our distance
and he the directional pressure.
Tipping like a prow
we pick up pace
and begin to sweep
through the deck of shuffled feet.

Pause and we dip quick
like a rocking race horse.
The sharpness of the jitterbugs
intensifies with each spring
and pull gasp. His wrist crack
whips me into a sweetheart,
in reverse I spin till his red
light hand brings me down.
Swinging through each other,
his rubberband snaps
quickly curb my escapes.

Twirling my sister
I never learned such boundaries
or surrender. The final dip
drops me vertical against
the pull of my own kick
at his hands gripping
my pending energy.

Holly Martin