A Backwards Dance

A tepid glance from across the bar
draws me in; I block it out
willingly, instinctually.

There's no need for conversation,
our eyes met and told our story
like playing a record backwards.

Tracks that skip and moan
at different intervals
reciting an untuned melody

which somehow managed to force
the needle in such obtuse
measure to play the tune correctly.

It's strange to say, for me,
when two hearts align,
it could be for the better.

Yet I am reluctant to wind
the phonograph any farther,
lest I be responsible for the dance.