he jokes around but he doesn't sleep with me
he tickles the undersides of my feet but he doesn't talk
he just walks... no rather tip toes round the issue

and his step become more intricate,
weaving a complicated pattern on the stage

he brushes my hand but he doesn't kiss me
he gets close to me ear and lets out ashes
he doesn't talk...

and if he doesn't talk
and he doesn't kiss it makes me wonder--

does he have a tongue?

Is he afraid to speak in English, is he scared to speak in French?

he digs a trench on the surface where he is dancing,
he digs it deep with the dance he does,
growing ever more complicated as if the song has upped tempo

but the music is not that of argument
it's not even of playful banter
no not anymore

because he doesn't have a tongue no breath in his lungs to make passion
his vocal chords gone ashen and I learn slowly...

his footsteps