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.
