We are screaming, screaming, screaming
all of us, screaming like the day we were born,
our bones begging for mercy as we pounded
our feet and heels onto the dance floor.
The flowers I let you weave into my hair are
dropping their petals under our bare feet,
and the entire warehouse smells like daisies
and clover and lavender and rosemary.
I love this open space and the dusty rafters and
the ragtag bunch of writhing, dancing bodies,
but mostly I love that when you look at me,
you can’t even tell when my hands are shaking