Grass Roots Open Writers


Passion



The Arrangement

 

His fingers caught in the tresses of her hair,

As he whirled her - high in the dance.

His dark, deep set eyes held possessiveness.

The intensity of her eyes flashed defiance.

He would not be denied;

She would not be promised.

As the music lifted, his arm

Tightened around her belted waist,

Slender - against the breadth of him.

The light from the all-consuming fire

Reflected lambent upon her wilful face,

But it did not diffuse the anger there.

Dust swirled in the charged air as the beat

Intensified its pace; the notes hypnotic.

The deftness of their feet traced a path

Of pre-determined destiny.

Palm to palm, the onlookers encircled the pair,

Knowledge and tradition uniting their eyes,

In the taming of the child.

The strings of the fiddle pulsated

In response to the travelling bow

Enrapturing, capturing the girl with its spell.

As the sweat emerged in silver beads,

Upon his brow, he pulled her in

To the aroma of his manly scent.

Intoxicating her senses, quickening the blood

That flowed through the chambers of her heart;

Infusing her cheeks with a blush of softness.

His rough hands - instinctual - felt the burning passion,

That mirrored his bodies own needs and desires.

Detecting the change, he halted in his step,

And met the full force of a woman's eyes.

Coquettish - she loosened the red cotton twill

He wore knotted about his neck - tantalisingly,

Feeling its coarseness - running through her,

Soft velvety fingertips. She was his.

The music slowed - became still - as the evening's breath.

As one body, the onlookers retreated to their beds;

Consigning the embers to shift and settle within the dying fire.

 

(C) Jan Hedger

 




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