by Duncan Dwelle, February 1986
Last night we danced:
the music flowing round and to us -
our feet on fire - and coursing though us.
Each step enhanced a bold romance
as if the fates already knew us
and had ambitions.
While others sat
and watched the band play up the crowd
with raucous laughter, clapping loud,
they passed the hat and made light chat.
We danced on still, musicians proud
of our inhibitions.
Our hands clasp tight
then spinning off in wild gyration,
enraptured in fleet foot elation,
we took to flight. Alone, the night
is ours, and we the inspiration
of sublime conditions.
We danced how long?
I do not know when came the day.
Pearl gray mist rose from the bay.
Morning birds' clear song rising in a throng
from floating flocks. The sun's first ray
on love's fruition.
So dance with me again.
Entwine with me in lovers' fashion.
Glide on waves of fragile passion,
bodies moving like a pen writing poetry, which then
become a fountain without ration
of life's nutrition.