My beat, your drum. That pink taut skin stretched tightly and elastically over all your core/your centre, tapping lightly, sometimes stroking, with each hand movement eliciting its own sounds, deep and raspy, high pitched and most times melodic.
The community dances when our music is sweeping the air, my fingers, palms and your drum, beating away like there is no time to spare.
Depending on my mood, I may start beating hard, timed pounding heavy, deep and fast, testing and training my hands, as if to beat some world record. The community on edge as I beat it furiously till its skin feels like its about to pop.
Another time, I will go nicely, each stroke slowly and sweetly, like we could go all day. Washed in the music of your drum. The spinning stops, and we could stay suspended forever, where ever we can play.
MY BEATS YOUR DRUM