The dance we did at the table that day
Your smiles did a two-step over my laughter
which shimmied across the scrambled eggs
And bacon, too soft

You smelled and I was covered in white paint
And Lee was asleep in his chair
But all I could think and think and think
Was how grateful my dirty feet were to be there

Each time we laughed a little tango began
My smiles, the leg thrust
Your laughter, the dip
And with each twirl across the buttered wheat toast
I knew I knew I knew
That nothing new had tasted so much like this dance.