Monday, September 17, 2007

World's Oldest Dance

She didn’t know she’d break her shoe
while dancing the Cuban Boogalu.
Nor did he know how many martinis it took
to give him that loose intoxicated look.

I held her waist with innocent sweaty hands
I watched, on the verge of staring, the heart within my chest did dance.
As the music played, the rocking of her body undulated slower
My sweaty hands moved lower.

You don’t know a person until you’ve seen them dance
You’ve seen them at their freest, they’ve given you that chance
You’ve seen the movement that is their breath, their life,
The pounding that is their heart, their work and their strife.

The Samba is on, their faces are flushed
After a few stumbles, he doesn’t feel quite as rushed.
It will take a powerful wave to douse
this powerful fire they’ve stoked and aroused.

He smiled when I slipped my broken heels off my feet
He loosened his collar and popped another olive between his teeth.
He’s nervous as hell, he’s had far too much to drink
But I’m going to lead around by his necktie, barefooted, before he knows to blink.

You don’t know a person until you’ve seen their truest grace
Until you’ve seen that sheen of sweat on their face.
You know not your lover until you seen his smile during his final throes
His hips, his hands, his rhythm: it’s these things only you should know.

C.L. Halliburton

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