It was one of those fancy dress up balls,
one of those university formal affairs
before the June break,
and he was unaccustomed
to fancy balls
and formal affairs,
at the majestic hall of mirrors,
centerpiece of Cincinnati’s swanky hotel.
He stood alone in shadows
observing the ruffles and rhinestones,
slinky satins and lacy taffetas,
sipping his fifth or sixth highball,
a pensive GI Bill intruder
out of place in opulence filled
with crew cuts and bright young faces.
In the soft light of the grand
chandelier he found it impossible to resist
the laughing wide eyed face,
Keats’s silken, hushed, and chaste
lady fair with the saucy upturned nose,
and in her long yellow hair
a lavender orchid,
dancing with an awkward underclassman
a hundred years his junior.
He advanced on uncertain legs
to the center of the crowded dance floor,
brushed the boy on his shoulder,
swept the startled blond into his arms
and slowly maneuvered her around the floor,
indifferent to the music,
unaware of the crowd,
memorizing the scent and shape of her,
feeling the warmth of the bloom in her cheeks,
whispering whatever came to mind
just to watch the laugh form on her lips,
until the lights dimmed
and the orchestra played the ceremonial
Goodnight Sweetheart
to end the dance.
Kissing the palm of her hand he
carefully avoided her billowing skirt
and returned her to the scowl of the evening’s
most unhappy escort.
He had tapped into her bounce,
the well of her captivating vitality,
lost himself in her youth,
and for the first time
since the recent war he was
alive and almost
happy.
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Cryssa
Blessings and Love ~~ Micke
What a Lovely Dance!
Thank You for bumpin him out of the way :) the unhappy escort-lol
I Very Much Enjoyed The Romantic Splendor of Your Poetry
Embraced ~ Embrassé
Vickie