In living rooms, beneath dim light,
where darkness looms, and shadows hide,
an impulse arises, as dreams takes flight,
a symphony of motions, yet not quite.
Along the beats, with each thump,
they sway, and flail, then nearly bump,
shaking their body, also did crawl,
in skips and bounces, and a comical fall.
With crooked arms, out of sync,
their movements, a drunken gait,
as hip grinds, like a wobbly clink,
their laughter echoed, and eyes winked.
For, within those private walls,
no judging eyes, no awkward contacts,
just clumsy bodies, joyful hearts,
a couple's dance, a pair of left feet.
Though grace flee, steps may stray,
in joy they moved, and laughed all day,
for, in that dance, they had to say,
behold, the king and queen of disarray!
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