On the Count of Eight

Oh, mm, yeah. Ooh. Lights cut low,

feel the heat in the floor. Mirror says ready, but I'm asking for more.

Heartbeat snapping like a metronome click. Every breath hits hard, every move is

slick. Hands in the air, shoulders roll back tight.

We don't wait for permission, we own the night. Black line,

sharp edge, a story in the pose. Say it without a word,

yeah, the body knows. Toe, heel, snap,

turn it out. Control the silence and we shout. Hold that look,