The white swans swayed like
translucent waves,
fluttering their wings like
weightless droplets that d i s s o l v e
on the surface,
swinging their legs and arms
in the air
with marvelous grace and
spiralling like a eagle that's
diving from a cliff.
Their dresses were ethereal,
baby blue that softened into a
snow white, cascading glitter
shimering with the apalling lights.
Their figures were so slim,
like bodies carved in marble,
but so efervescent, feathery,
so slender.
I eyed Chiara from the corner of my eye
contemplating how her eyes twinkled
with the stage reflections
and how they had watered vaguely,
how her stare was stolen by the dancers
and her emotions carried away by the music.
how she didn't realize I had been observing her
the whole time,
and how she squeezed my hand at the
beggining of each act.
how her cheeks lifted like a little child,
and how she glanced at me anxiously
when darkness swamped us around.
how, when the show was over,
she came very close to me,
I even thought she was about to kiss me,
so I bored into her eyes and she pushed it all out for me,
her heart, her warmth,
her passion quite intensively.
she didn't kiss me physically,
but I'm sure our strings attached
in that moment precisely,
her heart- warming complexions
and my burning sensations.
"thanks for this."
And that's how she summed it all up
for me,
three words and a single gesture,
her fingers intertwined with mine adorably.
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
PoetryI didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________...
