[Spoken Word] Woman, do not explain yourself. The night does not require a reason. Stand. Feel the floor find your feet as if the earth has been waiting for the exact weight of you. Let one hip answer the other in a conversation older than speech. Let the spine become water— slow, unhurried, willing to curve where the air asks. You are not performing for him. You are not offering a show. You are remembering that your body already knows what the mouth cannot carry: the sway that begins in the low back, the quiet turning of a wrist, the way breath can become a path. Let the shoulders drop. Let the jaw unclench. Let the room learn you before anyone is allowed to name you. Man, sit. Do not conduct her. Do not shape the air with your hands as if the music belongs to you. Witness. Become the stillness the dance can lean against. [Chorus] She moves. He stays. The room learns reverence. The night learns her body without anyone speaking its name.
