In my room, early morning, I am dancing for him. Soft undulations, hips ridged, and I know all ready he’ll be a better dancer than me. I am trying to imagine his body, where the hand can grip and where the voice comes from. I see his chest, where he groans, I see his belly, where he breathes, I see his throat, where he shouts, and his mouth, where these sounds turn to words, that which i am grateful for, the work the mouth does to communicate to me what his heart wants. I imagine myself in a group of friends. At a party. In another city. And in the middle of a sentence I stop, his body is here. I know him. And I experience this feeling of meeting him for the first time, without him.