dancing

9/5/12

 

I love the way that every night, as we sing the brilliant splendor of all that we’ll one day share together, metaphysically toasting to the reverie of this unforeseen intimacy, our words dance together, as we might one evening under the pale moonlight.

 

I’m a terrible dancer, but I think I’ve found a way to pull it off, with my words as my feet and your beautiful voice, the music to which I move; your colorful imagination, my flashy new dance step.

 

And I can imagine, after we’ve danced our hearts out, so far out that they trade places, we’d retreat to the paved stoop of the nearest brownstone, or the rickety fire escape outside our bedroom window, or even to the dingy pull-out in the basement of your cousin’s brother-in-law’s duplex, lying together, and you telling the most beautiful story without uttering a single word, your eyes informing me of all I’d ever need to know about this world.

And when you close them to sleep, I know that the characters in this story have already gone on to live happily ever after. And your peaceful breathing against my neck tells me that I’m in for another beautiful tale when the sun rises.