POETRY | RELATIONSHIPS | LOVE SET TO MUSIC

Slow Dancing in the Kitchen

A poem

A kitchen is the perfect place to make love.

Gentle arms curl around my waist, tug me away from the stove, from my chores of the day, my cares, to wrap around me for a slow dance in the kitchen, while the sauce for dinner simmers, to sway to a song written when we had other lives, from times before we were us. But we know the words and they still matter.

Two glasses of ruby wine on the counter gently set aside for now, for a simple dance while time stands still. Your arms so familiar and strong, the starch of your shirt crisp and smooth under my loving hands, erasing the memory of anyone and anything who dared to come before.

When you hold me close your aura, the perfume of you, fills my every sense. My soul knows you, your cologne, your hair gel, your soap. Your personal unique musk. Scent is such a visceral, magical, invisible thing, I think. Immensely powerful for me. I breathe you in, my mate. My person.

Slow dancing, feeling set to music. A sensual act. Bodies pressed close together, our hands clasped, your warm tenor softly singing in my ear, my face pressed safe against your neck, breathing you in, eyes closed, a sigh. You draw me closer, lost in a moment. We fit so well together.

Night has fallen outside the windows, closing us in softly and the world has shrunken to just you and me. And this kitchen, and this life, where you hold me in your arms, dance with me. I know the world is cold, but here, this moment, there is only warmth. The sauce simmers, the wine waits, and everything is right.

Thanks for reading. I appreciate you. Always dance in the kitchen.