Poetry Friday: The Word is DANCE, Pt. 3

The start of something much larger than I am today:

Tango

“Two? Four? Ten?”

She hated when he did this.
She couldn’t stand the way he looked at her, his blue eyes blazing from an inner fire, spotlights of his inquisition.

Like Klieg lights, it blinded her.

Most times he could keep the queries under control. He didn’t really want to know. Not really. But when the days were gray and cold, and the air around them too expansive, his mind would wander through the forests to those dark places. Places of doubt. The secret places where sticking a toe in to check the warmth led to slipping down the bank to the cold murky depths.

“I’m not going to tell you,” she said to him quietly. “It doesn’t matter, does it? We’re together, and that’s all that matters.”

She hated this dance. She’d much rather lead him by the hand to the bedroom, lay him down, nuzzle his neck and declare her passion for him. Slowly undress him. Smiling. Lower her body onto his. His hands clutching her thighs in that way that always made her come.

But that’s not what he wanted.
So that’s not what she wanted.

“I’ll make us some lunch,” she said, padding barefoot to the kitchen, trying like hell not to make her hips sway too much.

That’s not what he wanted.

She got out the stock pot, the veggies, the knife, and set to work. He could see her from his perch in the living room. She really was beautiful, he thought, too beautiful for me. How many more? What were their names? What did they look like? Why did she choose me? When will it end.