Dancing With The Queen

Deliberate dancing with a drunken prince

or many, the streets will call for a smile.

Sober, you may refrain; rain erased prints

of me, your handler: I’ll have to wait in file.

Grubby, location utility hands

race to your body like gamblers to cards.

I’ll wait, your patient, from five thousand lands,

unworthy bones move within too few yards.

I’ve lost my favorite impulse controls,

I am enough; now I’m simply not there

to cause and collect your joy. My mind rolls

over another, staring at your dorsal hair.

So fair are my love’s eyes in mine,

I’ll have to wait, for me how they’ll shine!

-Grant Durando