In her voice is like a contrapuntal marrow song,
As her eyes fly a bee line into mine,
Flopping and sloshing as we mix juices,
Brilliant little blues and yellows
Down there in the essential stream of life
And I can imagine what dancing with her would be like
To songs of the city from decades past
While the moment hits her unflappable charisma
And dissipates into shining stars.