Tarantella

Lover’s fingers trace a path over warmed skin.

She is like a billowing sail as her wind caresses her.

Thoughts flee.

Mind empties.

There is just the here and the now…the sensation.

It is a blessed void, an uncommon peace.

They fall into their rhythm of forgetting and cherish the silence in their minds,

though their bodies speak volumes.

It is a dance that both numbs and makes one alive.

It consumes and drives away all rationality.

But they do not care.

Still, they dance on.

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