One hand on your hips A firm grip to support your grace My soft breath on your lips A whisper to steer your pace Toes aligned in a symmetric four Palms locked in a gentle squeeze Gliding mist upon the wooden floor A pair of swans weaving time's freeze The lilting jazz number on loop Tilting curves carved to the tune Salsa with you is the steamy soup I sip even on this summer noon Salsa PC: Google #NaPoWriMo