Dialtone by Dialtone

We circled each other like boxers in a ring,
like dancers on the horsehair,
like cats about to claw.
The circles were coins in the palms of our hands,
two-sided and far-roaming,
our fare for the ferryman,
admission to the waltz,
tickets to somewhere else.
A balm for our hearts, the music soothed
the burning red thing, loosened the laces on the gloves
and let them fall to the canvas.