Butch dommy muscle mommy
Teaching us to fuck the floors.
Are the floors preganté?
Stomping grounds of the perennial outsiders
Building community in spaces shared.
Rooms and foods and cuddle puddles
In (n+1) floofs and whispered care.
A blue haired they reminds me of my home:
They are familiar with where I used to dance.
Home it is that I feel here,
Dancing close with all these queers.
I am lifted, body and spirit,
By a dancer half my size.
Their body: fulcrum and lever.
Upon them, I could move the world.
Liberation found in steps unknown,
Twirling to fusions of ritual and invitation.
Violence cannot find that which is
Partnered, triples, 'cules of twelve.
Weaving leading into following hands
And limbs and backs and spins,
I find myself in the mix of reflections.
Mirrors of self, refractions of affinities:
Brief infinities through which my light can shine
And create shapes with which to undefine,
Unlearn, and find: who am I when I am safe?
I am safe at home.
Bailarinos, no hay pista de baile.
Bailarinos, son tus movimientos
El baile y nada mas.