We’re dancing slow.  I hope the music never stops.
The steps you executed on the stage
are muted here with me, just subtle hops
the others hardly see.  You’ll be the rage
of critics who reviewed your play tonight.
But in this brown Café your pas de deux
blends fine with mine.  Times like this I love you.

You’re back so life is grand.  Please just hold me.
Your back against my hand is warm and strong;
the exercises work.  You look eighteen
but years more interesting.  It was wrong
to separate.  I’m still not right.
But in this brown Café your pas de deux
blends fine with mine.  Times like this I love you.

I know this city’s music, how its notes
attract us dancers, make us want it all.
It’s your turn on the high wire.  Jostling boats
of patrons call you.  They’re your fans.  Don’t fall.
But in this brown Café your pas de deux
blends fine with mine.  Times like this I love you.