It’s a soft murmur in the room,
A faint tune we know that reaches our ears.
Eyes meet, our breathing pauses, a question hangs in the air as the tune continues on.

“Dance with me?” I asked with a quivering intake,
“Dance with me.” I said with a breath of more confidence.
You just smiled, it was large and with your teeth, and you took it in stride and took two steps to meet me.

We knew the song a million times over, we sung it, breathed it, and felt the words from our head to our toes, and as it played, you grasped my hand and pulled me close.

You were warm, but you’re always warm.
You were laughing quietly to yourself, or maybe to me.
But you just looked at me with those eyes, and it felt like too much.
My chest tightened and my mouth seemed to dry all at once, and I had to look away.
You just laughed again, you knew what I was doing, being shy, hiding, avoiding that look.

“You smiled, you smiled oh and then the spell was cast,” you sung, a whisper, a terrible attempted harmony, a confession.
Your cheek pressed to mine in a gentle sway, rocking, swing.
And there we were, like trees in the wind, swaying, rocking, swinging.