Dance of a lifetime

They are older now

silver toned, still full of flair they still dance without music their breathing their only sound

Their move in perfect unision in perfect standing position all children are on their feet as well

And yet their perfect movements make them neither look or sound like a happy couple

Open and clear dialogues that depends on equality between them

Frequently they break off into solo flights

Although they still move around each other with pleasantly breezy elan

One wondering why they could not have aimed for more affection and love

An earnest and intimate she is with his internalised emotion that does not lend itself well to the dynamic forward manner of hers...

Spacious room in one corner him in the other corner her

Softened inside but his manner is brusque his constant shuffling impatient to win her back.

.What a difference it might have made if they had sat down in the middle of that spacious place taken each other arm

A knife-sharp rhythmic sound of his opening and closing jaws...

an attractive speed and lightness of her footsteps...

he watches her quietly disappearing behind the closing door.

One step at a time

They dance without music

their breathing the only sound

She is liffed,

tossed,

turned,

caught and thrown

and caught again...

The relationship develops,

deteriorates

and recovers

among crying babies

and laughing children

they call them mum and dad.

They keep dancing

with their pillows

then lie

with their heads

on them

to make love.

More sinisterly,

later on,

they turn the pillowslips

into blindfolding hoods,

their battle ends

with a hug.

They dance without music

their breathing the only sound.

A feverish dance

of a relationship

that nears

the breaking point

but survives,

a dance of mutual

dependency,

trapped

in a rectangle of light

each elbowing

for a place

of their own

in well deserved

spotlight.

Falling apart

and coming together

everyday

in this endless

dance of a lifetime,

she is on all four,

skittering around

like some crushable insect,

she rolls,

lies on her back,

he runs to her,

she picks up a brass rod,

twirls it in a baton

slashes it

twistling through the air

turns it into a weapon.

He moves cautiously back,

picking his camera

from his pocket,

flash bulb

photographing her

repeatedly.

They dance without music

their breathing the only sound,

pouring water

over each other

and sinking

slowly

to the floor,

before he rises

in a panic,

shaking

and lifting up

her apparently lifeless body.

Blackout,

a few minutes

of darkness,

a rich

tantalizing brief moment

of his fear

on her lips.

She then stirs,

tiny fluttering

of her bare feet,

he stands up

and they dance again

with swiftness

and precise control

of their movement

body against the body

like a clockwork,

under her bare hands

she feels

his fearless physicality,

her eyes full

of dazzling

intense

energy

and yearning

for expressive plasticity.