That Dance Move’s Gone Forever

Is what you told me with 
my ear in your teeth, you had 
stopped spinning but Prince didn’t get the memo 

and he continued even as we stood
clinging; I tried then to remember 
how you spun, how your forearm felt, 
the weight of your foot on mine—it’s all 
going away too fast. 
Which fingers stayed touching as you twirled? 
How many rotations about the candle-sun? 
The angle of our orbit? 

As if sensing questions your eyes catch mine; 
I am swept away in undertow memory. 

We’re swaying so awkwardly on 
the gym floor in middle school; waltzing 
in the tent during a rainstorm with 
the lantern on the ground painting 
you yellow from the ankles on up; 
slow dancing and making out in the 
St. Vincent de Paul among all the old TVs
soundlessly projecting Superman cartoons 
and an unnamed John Wayne flick 
in glorious grainy technicolor behind our backs; rocking the car of the Ferris wheel, 
the carnie giving us a dirty look 

and that mood ring you won me 
never leaving 
its soft pink as we rock. 

Prince fades to Cat Stevens. 
You pull back and spin me and kiss me and boogie on, 
finally speaking: 
No stopping now; we’ll both be pumpkins by morning.