Dance for Me

A turbid small puddle of whatever mirrors the dim lights of centuries ago – no, no perhaps just a block or two away, the lights and no time sways.

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A turbid small puddle of whatever mirrors the dim lights of centuries ago – no, no perhaps just a block or two away,  the lights and no time sways.

But time is more distant than the miles we count.

Leave be the mud of place and cleanse you with the ideas of where your mind has taken you.

I’m left here to contemplate the depthlessness of this place because centuries from now, I’ll read about it.

I hear you dance about me upon the grimy cobblestones.  Who do you hold in your arms and how does she keep the hem of her dress pristine?

I scribble away upon this wooden box, a quill and an endless supply of ink.

I begged for the writing box on a birthday so many years ago, and I’ve followed you about sketching out your life of beauty and gentle love.

How is it you haunt me?

How is it that I cannot push you away despite the many distractions I beg for each day.

I want nothing, nothing from you and yet if I could, I would ask you to stay.

Dance for me.

Dance for me.

Take her slender body in your arms and gently lead to music that I can only imagine, in a room of marble and admiration. In the end, my envy and depravity will exhaust my efforts and I will sell my foolscap upon the corners.

A word picture of you in the lush white of winter immortalizing, in physical beauty, the lies of the age.

 

Author: SK Woodiwiss and SW Woodiwiss

We are writers. We love flash fiction, short stories, poetry, and novels. We love to write ghost stories but have tried our hand at simple conversations, inner fears and peeked into the madness of the mind. Our greatest love is the novel and its ability to explore character development. We simply enjoy the writing process.

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