Amongst the gasps of an accordion
we were dancing
and pouring to one another
In the belly of the music
...Like figures of eights
like
a sandglass,
like
a butterfly
who multiplies in the impetus of its forewings
gaping through the gasps of beauty between its veins
in the ambivalence of its spurs,
in the stretch of matching mirrors,
to the vastness of everything,
and nothingness,
learning
filling out the blank of infinity, with infinities
with infinite sockets of beckons,
in the nods of our gestures,
gushing the mirrors with such music.
