the dance

freedom, dear, is a tricky thing
so angels say and hearts that sing
that touched by bitter hands did fold
and turn and lay beside the cold.
the same is true for hearts that burned
with raging passion now that turned
to cold wet ash, laying quiet
screaming 'never should I have tried it!'
but screaming hearts by both of which
have passion left with least an itch.
now folded near to one another
hear each's call to the other
and matching in desire do answer,
calling to the dance the dancer.
floating between the two movers
the desire for each to be lovers!