The Dancers, a poem by Robert A. Sieczkiewicz

The DancersThe Dancers, Charles Turzak (c.1930s)

The Dancers

We are dancing a waltz
I moved ever so near
To smell her gold spun hair
So muted is its scent
It was the summer’s air
Moving even closer
My lips against her ear
So she could feel my breath
Closer was her response
As my tongue met her lobe
The band played steadily
But I heard not a note
For I was far above
In a warm misty cloud
No feet upon the floor
To the door she guided
My mind nearly consumed
For but one thing I think
Is have her totally
Knowing this isn’t a dream