Apart From Worldly Things

Tango

This dance
entwines its lovers
as vines in summer—
stem to stem,
thorns catching,
blossom brushes blossom.

Pulsing with rhythm,
they clasp and cling and release,
eyes smoldering
with fire.

Not another soul exists in this world
as they turn and touch and hold.
Palm on wrist,
breath on neck,
their limbs intertwine,
and they lose themselves
in motion—

until, at last,
on flames of crescendo,
they whirl
and then still.

Strains of music float
into silence—
as
petals of roses drift
from her hand.