Canter to a halt, quiet
Still air laden; the leaves they whisper
Of martyrs and legends;
Blood once spilled where
Poppies grow, and silence that
Falls ’round the castell old;
Take me to the maiden, bound
To the dark night; take me in place
Of purity and light.
(Photo location: Eilean Donan, Scotland)
He smiled from behind his shades
Raised a brow, cocking his head
Asking if I was coming on;
Alas, he’s not the one I was
Waiting for, so I shook my head and
Waved with a smile bright as day
To which he waved and returned,
A tad wryly, yet a smile nonetheless
Chanced, before we pulled away.
Arrest me with your eyes
For I’m guilty as charged
For the love I have raided
From the depths of your heart
Throw me in the prison
Of your tenderly warm arms
For I‘m guilty, yes I’m guilty
From the depths of my heart.
Slide it up your skin
Bronzed, silken warmth
Do it up buttoned down
Your torso, it furnishes well;
But that finishing touch
The cherry on top, is the
Suave-making folded sleeve
To dress a man up hot.
In a parallel universe
We could be sitting before
Each other, taking in every
Nuance of our connection;
And our souls would meet
On such spiritual planes
That they would flow and
Weave us together again.
As the music began, she drew him in, feeling his breath on her cheek.
“Come closer a little.”
His hand was travelling down her body, coming to rest at the small concave low at her back. She gasped at the sensation of his fingers on her skin; it brought back memories from so long ago that she thought she had left behind.
And as they danced, each move was a step back in time, each gaze a stronger stirring in their souls, and each turn closer to sweet destruction.
That dance filled the whole room, so much that everything had to melt away. All she could hear was the poignant beauty of the song in her blood; all she could feel were his hands on her skin and his breath on her lips.
He had that look in his eyes, that same desirous look of fever and wild that she remembered. The rhythm was pounding in her ears now, and all she knew was how perfectly their movements connected her to him and him her.
It was as if they had never parted, and the bachata plays, timeless.
She stood before him and he caught the scent of her perfume in her hair. Leaning in with his lips close at her ear, he spoke in a low voice.
“Do you know that you are the most beautiful here?”
“What do you mean?”
She could feel her face flushing and his intent gaze on her.
“Simply that you are the most interesting, elegant and beautiful woman.”
“Do you want to dance with me now?”
Before she could answer, he had taken her hand in his and wrapped his other arm around her waist. Still blushing, she draped hers around his neck. An upbeat percussion rhythm began and the musicians took the cue.