[Spoken Word] Woman, let your hands travel your own body first so he learns how you wish to be seen. The waist. The ribs. The place where breath lives. Show him the map before anyone is allowed to walk it. Then, if the dance wants it, let a hand pass through the air near his chest, near his stomach, near the place your eyes have already begun to remember. Do not seize. Brush. Hover. Take your time disappearing from the touch as if the almost were the entire art. The space between skin and skin is still the dance. Do not rush to close it just because the heat has arrived. Man, breathe so she can use your breath as music. Do not reach. Do not correct. Let her hand decide whether it will land or only pass like weather. [Chorus] Touch like a dancer, not like a thief. The almost is already devotion.
