Friday, September 16, 2016

The Ball

We did not dance to ev'ry tune,
Despite desires on my part.
But when we did (always to soon),
The music stopped, we'd break apart.

I curse these chamber musicians
Each note precise and right on key
Crescendos matching our passions
Until the baton drops on me.

So I hold on to that timeline
When I would lead you on parquet
Your arms, legs, hips all matching mine
Brief movements, smells, few words to say.

But although I led, you controlled.
Your dances planting long, strong strings
Which my heart later, would feel pulled
As I would think of sweeter things.

For though we've not done more than dance,
In those brief moments on the floor.
I hope that soon I get the chance
To see, to say, to feel some more.


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