An invitation to a sestude

Here are the dimensions of the dance floor:
The expanse of just sixty-two words.
But the terrain, well, that’s up to you -
Whether flashing coloured disco squares
Or planks of wood softened by smooth-soled feet
Or simply a stretch of wet pavement
Breathing under orange street lights,
Where you take my arm and my feet fly.
You choose. We’re having a ball.

by Olivia Sprinkel



Inspiration? A Tube journey.