'A slow dance'


I see you as a silouette
diaphanous in the doorway
as you enter the room.
The soft sheen on your hair
the brief glint of  starlight in your eye
as you survey the room.
The unhurried slant of jawbone
the ease of hanging arms
as you conquer the room.

The sudden stillness provoked
by your entrance
has nothing to do with the music,
the sudden cessation of breath
has all to do with the music
that starts deep within me,
as you conquer my inner rooms.

A constriction in my throat
a flash of recognition
a new addition to my coursing liquids,
a speeded heartbeat
warns me of the next dance
the slow dance of finding out whom it is
that I know so intimately,
having never met.

Blind to all other charms
among a countless number
unhearing all but the rhythm of an ancient tune
I move towards the center of the room
the place where you are standing,
solitaire.
Or outstanding
notwithstanding the crowded room
your presence alone makes
the house seem empty now
and I dare to approach unseen by the throng
unheard by the music
unsung by the croonies.
The clamour in me is enough
the need to move with you outdoes all other movement.

I stop
close but unthreateningly to one side
of your field of vision.
Awaiting your freedom to choose to see me
while risking to be invisible for ever.
If you will not see me now
this moment will be lost
and I will the poorer man.

Infinitesimally you move
as if your soul's been startled
by something subcutaneous,
some presence under your very skin.
You slowly turn your head
and the turning begets a smile
the smile a recognition
the recognition begets a need
that started before time
became continuum,
before moments gave birth to hours.
Before days turned in to hopeful longing
and forever needs.


Assessment and acceptance
mingle happily in the corner of your eye
as the neck bends a fraction
accepting my own curteous bow
reaching out with a slender hand
catching me as I fall into you
while standing on my own
while moving into the slow dance
induced by the band
but willed by the need
to move in harmony with you.

The electric touching of your fingertips
before the hands have fully met,
the soft cheek offered for customary stance
in this form of slow dance
the soft wave of perfume running like
a liquid enthusiasm
over my face and into my face
and in under my face into the very marrow.
Another maker of indelible memory
of ever wanting, never letting go
of this other half of me
enrolled in this slow dance.

The strong thighs moving intangibly
but knowing their way among
my own trembling legs
the points of compact contact
making bridges cross the chasm
of guessed-at-truths
about each other
truths known before we ever met
here or anywhere at all.
It takes less time and more light years
than anyone can measure
before our bloods boil in similar cadences
before our eyes lock inseparably
and our hands fuse into the knowledge
always hoped for,
this dance, this slow dance
will make all coming moments
filled with all of forever.

The rest of that and all coming days
are full of mist
and diaphanous veils
embalming hours and events
joining deed and thought inseparably
and murdering both if either be spoken of.
But the slow dance goes on
and each new tune makes a new configuration
on the dance floor of life.


The ballrooms  may be empty now
the dancing shoes split along the seams
but the dance
the slow dance
still will be relived, retold and enjoyed
by those who have danced with the wind.