Poetry Dare: Day 6

I will be the first to admit that I do not always write good poetry, but I think it's enough to know that I have tried.

So, I dance.  I swing dance, specifically.  Swing dancing is a social event where the dancing isn't indicative of attraction or the like, but it does happen sometimes that attraction will develop between partners - if not attraction then at least interest.  This puts someone like me in a strange position.  Do I ask her if she'd be interested in hanging out sometime, or do I just keep my mouth shut and enjoy the connection we already have?  There is almost nothing more awkward then dancing with someone whom you've refused to give your number to.  This awkwardness is the subject of Poetry Dare: Day 6's poem.



You asked me to dance. I
said yes because your eyes
smiled almost as brightly
as your hands which held mine like
light stayed in particle form, and
you wore it like a glove. You
have this way of letting out a
slight sigh when we dance like
you're mourning the fact that
the moment which just passed
can't be captured for more
than just a beat or two.
I admit that there are certain
dances I don't want to end
 like it's saying goodbye to a friend,
wondering when the chance will come again,
and after a year of music and
moving my feet to the beat, I
understand the value of finding
a connection like that, but
I find myself asking one question
with wonder and a bit of trepidation:
if I asked for your number,
would you stop dancing with me?