One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three
Left foot, Box
Right foot, Line
Left foot, Right
Left foot, Right
In Dancing circles, they call it a waltz.
It’s Ironic really, a gathering of prime numbers split up between the steps of two people, a box in a line, trying to make three sides into a square. Trying to make three steps into beauty.
Hands around waist, for one, Hands on shoulders, the other. The duality broken by the monotonous undertone.
One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three
Formality must come in packages of three, somehow forced into the minds and movements of two. The impropriety of the fraction it makes resounds in the piano score.
One, Two, Three
One, Two, Three
Like a body without a head. Eyes without a nose. The dance plays around the box, making two people into three steps. Three steps into four sides. Four sides into a rhythm, and all to the beat of forever.
One, Two, Three
Forever.
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