Companion to a dozen dances
I’ve lost count, it doesn’t matter
each time stood on its own
the tunes were ours to embellish.
Our hands sought familiar ground
fingertips meet and move to palms
caress would be too strong a term
when touch is again memory’s charm.
Moves learned by repetition
fueled by one unto the other
their abilities and my skills
combining as our styles unwind.
Each dance is the journey’s path
winding through emotion’s pleasure
not from lust or craving longing
instead of comfort found together.
You may ask me why I frolic
to find another is not my goal
luck has joined us once again
lead and follow to the dance.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160731.