being in it

being in it

My arms are holding yours, 
No stress just fingers stretch, 
Twenty of them are singing and dancing, 
Nothing to prove, nowhere to go, 
Just a day or a night so slow, 
Our hard and soft chests touch, 
They just do without talking much, 
We stand we sit we kneel and we fall, 
The holes are full as a whole for the ball, 
With push and pull, 
No one knows who’s taking whom, 
It’s never so done yet all so full, 
We’re sailing and dancing in a liquid room, 
Continue we do and leave no trace, 
In the space that had a myriad embrace.