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The stride, the ride, the existence of the curvature of the spine.

The dip, the crawl, the spin into the slide.

The catch right before the fall, tossing the world to tumble into the trap, where the spin is the ending to the dance as the eyes bounce and the fingers curl and the tips of the toes are a gift to the world.

The box trot that takes the tap, as jazz became each man’s picks of how she would describe her wish, which is where he found her standing at.

The clap of hands, the bending of backs, the swirl into the sambo, a frontal attack.

The jumping jacks while the melody unfolds and all engage in the poetic movement both young and old.

The flexing of knees, extending of arms, touching of elbows while setting off alarms.

No foul, no harm, no siting it out, in the movement the wallflower is not allowed.

The elegance in the eyes of the silhouettes song where partners are graceful and oblivious to the perils of the rights that can go tenderly go wrong.

The two step into the floss of time where rock was the music that settled young minds.

The blues and rap where stripping thoughts away in the vibrant description that ease stressful day.

The lifting of skirts and dropping of pants.

The mambo a soulful movement designed to entrance.

The bounce before we ignore caution as we play, because it’s in the movement we stay living and to be alive is the movements we make every day.

Keep moving.

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