Shame shimmers at the edges of my love.
A soft hand glides over my waist:
I remember I am a sensual being.
The beat of music is a mismatch:
My body is slow, tender.
I honour the rhythm that is my own.
I must dance to be still;
Be held for muscles to soften;
Gaze at another to see myself.
For the first time I am completely honest
With men I love,
And one in whom I have no interest.
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