That moment

There it is, that moment,
That gut felt knot, a pause,
Neither person speaks, then,
You think: “I feel so wooden”,
Dancing violates private space,
You both strain to be held,
But, there it is, uncomfortable,
A suppressed panic attack rises,
The dance floor a grassy plain,
Tugging at your feet, entangling,
No more gliding steps, stumbling,
Arms, legs, every joint, hinged,
A tenuous relationship, splintered,
Your emotionless faces, blank,
Carved representations of dance,
Still, there is something in touch,
A gentle palm resting on the back,
A brush of breast to chest,
A skirted thigh caressing thigh,
Cheeks that show a slight blush,
Quickened breathing, parted lips,
Body heat mixing aftershave, perfume,
In an instant its just you two,
Wrapped in a glowing amber mist,
You both know, together, you feel,
Neither person speaks, then,
That gut burning sensation, attraction,
There it is, that moment.

©2011, Donald Harbour