MASTER'S DANCE, by Andrew Darling
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MASTER'S DANCE, by Andrew Darling.

My hands put you in a trance.
Captured in my controlling embrace.
Cradling your back, began the dance.
The elation spread across your face.

Your hand welded onto my open palm.
Accepting my silent command.
That sigh escaping your lips, so calm.
Your tummy melts feeling my brand.

Posture sublime like a ballerina.
Supplicating as the tango demands.
Eyes fixed, revealing their patina.
Your downcast look understands.

My lead is deft, movement swift.
Your follow is instant, eager not hollow.
The music inside me invades your mind.
Your body responds in kind.

The pace wildly quickens.
Your hearts', not the dance.
Your pulse detected by my hands.
My Svengali gaze intensifies your trance.

You've no idea how much time passes.
As you are spirited about the room.
You willingly accept my trespasses.
Powerless except your perfume.

Your girlish presence is preserved.
Nothing about you unobserved.
I drink in your heady scent.
You are truly heaven sent.

Such closeness in this dance.
Is profound, intimate and advanced.
To watch your movement reveals.
Complete devotion in high heels.

Each quickstep brings your closer.
Your vitals racing by all measure.
Your desire to honor the composer.
Is your radiance that I treasure.

I march you to that inevitability.
Evident in your winsome expression.
Wild eyed, accepting the possibility.
That the dance is a confession

You've given in to me completely.
Mind, body, spirit, soul.
I know this and embrace you sweetly.
Keeping you, safe, my only goal.

You coo, smile broadly, eyes closed.
You float, your gossamer dress flows.
You anticipate the spin with ease.
Granting you that release.

You return coiling into my arms.
Clutched, overwhelmed by my charms.
I dip you, my eyes beseeching from above.
Looking up, eyes wide, in love

I hold you firm, your body freezes.
Bolt upright you breathe in snatches.
My music has stopped, no longer teases.
We've clearly met our matches

You only notice you're off your feet.
Your toes touching naked, a treat.
Scooped up weightless, whisked away.
Into my lair, no public display

Only two words were uttered at the threshold.
A resonant statement of "Mine."
Your sweet confession doubly bold.
Simply "Yours." Sublime.

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MASTER'S DANCE, by Andrew Darling