The first we ever did was dance.
The studio was where we met.
The teacher: I, the student: her.
And Arthur Murray’s was the site

We danced an hour twice a week.
We danced for months until I left.
I’d drunk myself near unto death
and could no longer right remain.

I drank the last check from the shop
and knew the rent was due in days.
What did I care, my life was done
and then she came and took me home.

The struggle still remained in me.
It threatened to unravel us,
but somehow she was always there.
In rage and love despite disgust.

Upon a time when I’d returned,
for I was gone in stupor raw,
she told me what she’d tried to do.
She shut her mind away from me.

And then the words she said to me
were branded on my drunken thought:
“I cannot get you from my mind.”
It broke my heart that will not heal.

Psychiatrist and counselor
and drugs and drugs we struggle on.
I’m still a wreck, but with a love
that failsafe aids in all I do.