|
I hear the tempo of your upbeat music, the swing and sway of skirts, as your hands sweep across the keys and elicit such exquisite melodies. My feet tapping out the rhythm of many beating drums, the passion of a thousand violins. That moment when the music becomes the pure magic of the night stars, and the moonbeams dance upon the wavering heartbeat of a seductive Moon. You belt out, "The Lady In Red" as your words conjure up images of a red seductress. My partner and I step up to the vision of past dancers. We become Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers dancing across the grandest ballroom floor. We can be anything in this moonlit moment of two. You keep on singing and playing the piano...still unaware of the spellbinding enchantment you have created with your voice and with your hands.
This poem is about a magical moment at the Bethel Inn in Maine
Poetry Ad-Free Upgrades Vote for this poem
|
|
| |||||||||||||||||||
|