I want to dance with
you the slow, caressing dance of lovers who know what they have, what has been
lost and what could be lost if the music stops again, that know it is precious
and cannot be lost again or life will be lost.
A dance of relief for blessings seen as treasured gifts, unnoticed as it
glides across the floor of blind absorption into the partner’s soul, where nothing
else matters or is even relevant to the moment, engulfed in a moment known only
to the dancers, felt together, the same way, as each step and turn is known
before even imagined.
A dance where the
heart of the lead is felt and known, following itself across the floor, where
neither leads and neither follows but both accept each other, as they are,
without anything extra, when the flow of movement overtakes the rhythm of two
hearts beating as one heart, unaffected by whether there is any music at all.
A dance whose music is heard only by those
who follow it, become beating hearts who care less for music than each other, for
the melody of devotion, without reservation, open for all to see.
A dance of hearts that never ends across the polished
floor of life together, never slowing to a stop, always undulating with
intimate cadence, where no style and every style controls, for style is
unaffected by adoration, felt by the embrace of each other, freely entwined as visible
parts of the others’ very soul and being, who know not who sees and care less
who cares, why the dance continues unending, exclusive to moments that do not end,
holding tighter as each turn draws them closer into embrace, to spin and clutch
together each and every motion of life encountered as one.
A dance of uninhibited openness to desires
for each other, never demanding---unable to demand---every wish already granted
in the heart of the requested, of touch and purity of purpose, indescribable by
anyone other than us, and even then not the fullness of elation, or mellow tone,
of knowing that no other one can dance this way.
This is our dance, personal and cooperative,
whose tune is heard by us alone.
This is
our music, that suits us alone and means to us what no one else can feel or see
or hope to understand, where steps are not thought, or designed, for steps are
long forgotten in the passion and assurance of touch, other than to please and
comfort and show affection so deep that direction does not matter except that
it is together.
A dance so subtle that it has
no pattern except that dictated by submission to the wish of one held so closely,
that one body is left within the other, indistinguishable from itself, so
impassioned that the entire world of existence outside one cheek against
another is rendered immaterial by the fact that no other thing is necessary for
passion to drive desire for intensity.
A
dance that precedes and replaces all conversation, of tone or pen, as communication
known clearly and precisely between those who engage it, beyond comprehension
to those who cannot or will not choose to give themselves totally to
another.
A dance only dancers can dance
and only one can compose, with symphony that cannot be duplicated by note or
phrase to score, of love, unashamed to be shown, devoid of need to impress any
other than the heart of the partner, of unity of spirit imperceptible in
essence, envied in display, only two can know, which never ends, never ceases
to thrill or calm or bring peace known only with life abandoned to another,
both becoming the person of the other, knowing not they are separate and caring
no longer for distinction between them, seeing only the other and themselves on
the floor together.
A dance where nothing
else matters.
Our dance.
You are my dance.
You are my music.
You are the steps in life that lead to you,
as we hold each other tightly, caressing our heart, as I become to you who you
know me to be.
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