Slow Dance in the Kitchen

The best love poems avoid the use cliche words like love, heart, and soul.  Here’s an example from Connecticut poet, Gina Forberg.

Slow Dance in the Kitchen  

Clumsily he grabs my arm,
threads our fingers,
wraps his spare hand
around my baby fat waist.
Eyes a serious, recessive
blue inch up to my nose,
and he leads me, his arms
pointed, taut like a warrior
with a bow and arrow
toward the open window.
We spin in circles, feet light
on the cold tile floor
and I think of  how I still
have to make him lunch,
drive him to the bus stop,
but when I look at his
eyelashes like butterflies
blinking, nothing is more
delicious than this moment
and when he dips me
and presses his lips
a little too long,  
a little too hard
against mine,
I lose my balance,
grab his shoulders,
save myself from falling.

     Gina Forberg
     Fairfield, Connecticut