A Dance

A Dance

A dance can mean the world.

The start of something succulent, sultry.

A dance can shock inspiration awake,

And its ever trailing companion, jealousy.

When I put my hand on your hip, the look of your eyes, the way you bite your lip, when we start to dance, flowing into each other, fluid, in sync.

A dance can be the greatest tease.

Your eyes stray for just a minute, but that’s all it takes.

As your voice, low, sweet, and laced with taunting, whispers in my ear halfway through the dance, “Stay here.”

You fall from my grasp, and you, with a slight grin, ask him to dance, his outstretched hand a sword, about to stab my heart as you take it.

A dance can be a storm.

As it starts, it speaks to me. It dares me to show you how I can dance.

It sweeps me up and the music devours my desire, steals my heart.

You look at me, wishing you were a part of this storm that is downing,

So I snatch your wrist, bringing you down under this sea of ecstasy and bliss.

A dance can be a denouement.

Your hips sway gently in my palms,

And a diamond sprouts from your icy eye.

Your feet don’t respond to my feet like they used to.

We both know it’s the end.

A dance can be a discovery.

A glance stolen from halfway across the floor,

We both gasp as our bodies respond to each other, no talking necessary.

The magnolia in your auburn hair, your maroon lips, full and twitched into a grin, your smooth face and fingers, I push a lock of hair from your face.

A dip, we stare at each other, overwhelmed by our proximity, and the spicy Latin beat.

A dance can be something new.

A dance can be something old.

A dance can revive, like spring rain to the crocus.

A dance can crack, sever, dissolve..

“Dance with me.”