Two Who Dare
We greeted with the choreography of two hesitant mutts sniffing each other out, surrendering an awkward quick pat on the back and pull away of men embarrassed by intimacy, an almost-waltz at arms length, over before the music began to play. Later we would come to know each other. First with the tango of predator and prey, more interested in a quick roll in the hay than any real affection. Then came the perfunctory contra dance of sun and moon executing steps called out before time began as we came to move in each other’s orbit. Finally, we danced the close waltz of two comfortable friends no longer fearful of a lingering gaze or the spine-tingling graze of fingers that stray.
But tonight? Tonight we embrace the idea of each other, relaxing with willful abandon into our authentic selves. Curled on my side next to his supine form with legs intertwined, my arm drapes over his naked chest as we drift between sleep and wakefulness, cloistered under the protective quilt pieced together by his grandmother. The pulse of his heart yokes with the contented beat of my own. Thought flees our stilled bodies as the silky heat of his flesh steals into my soul. I relish the profound perfect imperfections of his anatomy, the bond formed from skin caressing skin. This is the slow dance of two lovers transformed, lost in gentle music, cheek to cheek, floating in empty space as if nothing else existed, having forgotten the necessity of any proscribed movements. We waft through no-time, hearts open and exposed to the elements, heedless of future frosts or withering desert suns. He turns his head and our lips meet, two who dare.
©2017 Kenneth W. Arthur