We should dance,
not the quadrille or a polka,
nor any fancy step,
but simply, like we used to
when we were young,
and frivolous.
Those times when the music
was so loud,
it came up on all sides
and pounded fiercely in our ears.
There was no formula,
no pattern,
to how we felt it then,
but with our face to sky
and tightly shuttered eyes
we spun,
our arms outstretched.
And with the hair
across our cheeks
you sweetly did collapse
in that white dress,
warm and laughing.
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