Nyna Van Eps Hands On Hips The way we dance with hands on hips, swaying side to side to our own drum, music we’re singing buzzing from our lips. Whirls and twirls and spins and dips, so hard and fast my feet go numb. The way we dance with hands on hips. Sliding across the dancefloor, we give the others tips. A wink, a nudge, a flick of the right thumb, music we’re singing buzzing from our lips. There’s no words exchanged, no chances for slips. Just melodies and vibrations, the way the ballad hums. The way we dance with hands on hips. When we’re done, we can’t help but brush fingertips. Our memory hazy, but with a slight glimpse, the way we dance with hands on hips. Music we’re singing buzzing from our lips.
Nyna Van Eps New Work The words we write on paper dance along the edges, tenderly gliding along all the while just barely making an imprint on the next page. Ideas and phrases are recycled, and I’m in constant fear of being cliche.