Through the crowded hum of diners,
In that restaurant, that day,
My eyes caught yours, held them briefly,
And then flicked, foolishly, away.
Caught them, held them longer;
Neck burning, I flicked away again.
Suddenly the room seemed much too hot;
Was it then it happened? Was it then?
A space between the tables, made for dancing,
Seemed big enough for two.
I excused myself from my companions,
And glanced across the hubbub, back at you.
A slow and easy rumba, 'Begin the Beguine'
Had started, from the direction of the band.
Heart thumping, I threaded the universe between us,
And held out a nervous hand.
You didn't speak, but looked down
Shyly, with great interest, at your toes.
An eternity or two went by, until you smiled,
Pushed back your chair, and rose.
You were a flute, a silver reed in my arms,
With the slow, sweet tune unfolding;
My hand in the small of your perfect back,
Our bodies tentatively moulding.
As the music made our bellies brush,
I knew you could feel me press;
I didn't care, for all that I could ever want
Was there, beneath the thin silk fabric
Of your dress.
No-one seemed to notice our solitary dance;
There was a shield around us, I suppose,
Like the soft satin petals that protect and hide
The inner, secret mystery of the rose.
And as we dipped and swayed, beguiled,
While I held your slender, tender sheaf,
I prayed that the music would never end,
And that we would be the last to leave.
