The Dance

by Timothy W. Crawford

I need your help
I dreamt last night
I was at a club alone
and across the room at a table
sat a woman I couldn't take my eyes off.
Her hair was pulled back in a firmly
permed Sade style and she wore
a red blouse that was made of a refined silk that
flowed like tiny rain drops
down the face of 
an unyielding mountain.
We both snuck glimpses
She was checking me out
I could tell, 
when I looked at her
she looked away,
and I'll admit I did the same
This went on for most of the night
Until the clock struck twelve
at precisely that moment
Our eyes meet for the first time
I took her hand in mine
Without lifting our feet we 
slid like in that video
"Virtual Insanity"
to the dance floor
"Always and Forever" was playing
and everyone else evaporated
till there was only me
and her
dancing slowly,
passionately embraced
in a slow groove.
I didn't need to search
for words to impress her
or lines to coerce her
In the slow 
synchronization of our hips
words had no place

Words would have only been 
unneeded distractions
our bodies were speaking their
own language
similar to the dancing
of leaves in the wind.
By the second verse
we were no longer 
new aquaintances,
She reminded me so much
of women I had dreamt
of knowing,
she engulfed my senses
she was the embodiment
of every queen I had pictured
in my minds eye
and lady, that's strong
cause I don't truncate my desires
I chase them,
I don't rationalize my feelings
I embrace them
We were no longer acquaintances
as her face lay gently 
pressed to my chest
as the third and final verse
approached; figuratively
speaking, we were making love.
If she had a man waiting for her
at home, or across the room,
shit he could've been standing next
to us with his arms outstretched 
begging for her to return
and still there was no way I'd release her
I had no intention of letting her leave until
in an abstract sense
she climaxed and flowed her
femininity from the top of my bald head
to the leather of my shoes.
And then, as quickly as the song began
the song ended
We were never truly dancing at all.
Unknowingly she was with another man
a thin framed brother with a shirt
four times his size holding a cheap beer
in his left hand and in his right hand
he held her wrist, as he slightly staggered
he pulled her towards the exit.
I saw her eyes once more as she turn 
her head slightly in my direction
before leaving the club.
I guess my mind was still foggy
because I wanted to, I mean every inch of what makes
me a man, every vein in my body that pumps
blood to my still, street-wise heart
said in one unanimous voice, don't let her leave
Yet, my legs had no intentions of carrying me towards
that door, towards that staggering frail brother
or towards that lady, that magnificent queen
who had captured my attention so completely.
When I had finally awaken from this dream I felt a tinge
of disappointment.  As if I had somehow let myself down
and for weeks I would rush home to bed, attempting to 
dream of that woman again, have that opportunity once 
more, to at least jot my number on a matchbook and slid 
it unknowingly in her purse
but each night it was a different dream
none of them were of the lady in the red silk flowing blouse
and I fear the woman I never spoke to 
the woman I'd never seen except once in a farfetched
dream, would never give me that second chance
Still, I'll never forget the dance that never took place
in the club that never existed, with the woman, I can 
never see again

The Dance by Timothy W. Crawford

© Copyright 1997. All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

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