Her hand on mine elegant and light we move into position await the music ponder the moment feel the boisterous crowd and the jostling of the other dancers ignore the electricity of the anticipation even as it tries to overwhelm my head drunk with the joy of holding her in my arms the smell of her natural perfume intoxicating me even as the silkiness of her smile disarms and the music waits for us until at last we are ready
Then comes the prelude and and and the first measure of the rhythm simultaneous to the break from statue to flight and the room swirls and our bodies stretch reaching out to find the lines and the comfort and we whisper to one another the words of our souls and we are flowing as one and we are in love and the other dancers, the boisterous crowd, and the world disappears . . . we are alone together and the music waits for us
The dance evolves to an effortless embrace a feeling that is one of stillness that is one of standing in her arms while the floor moves beneath us flowing like an old river smooth and dark no obvious current movement in all directions at once turning suspended forever knowing that the music and the rhythm are constant but hearing in that lightness of her silky touch that the music waits for us
The sound of the crowd is no more only the beat and swish of Katya’s skirt and the click of her heals and the wave of her long dark hair felt brushing my hand on her back as if a breeze through the trees had kissed it and her dark eyes sparkle reflecting like a mirror all the silent faces watching in awe and all the other dancers who make way yet we dance on unaware and there is no end it is our life now and the music waits for us.
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