Dear Larry:
I wrote this for you in September 1997. It got published and you surprised me with a framed copy! It was for you. It was all for you.
Dance with Me
Wrap your arms around me. Hold me so closely that I melt into your body. Let me smell your skin and inhale your essence. Give me this moment and allow me to offer my moment to you. Embrace me with a soulful passion that only we can create. Leave me breathless. Feel the rhythm of the music. Listen to the movements of my body. Stop in time and decide what dance you want to do with me.
What would it be for me if I were to surrender myself to your lead in the slow and elegant predictability of the waltz? You would hold me firmly in your arms and lead me with confidence. If I were to surrender, would the cost be my dignity? If I allow you to lead me, do I somewhere in the process lose a sense of myself?
Then what would it be if we were to reel with an upbeat jitterbug? Would I fear more when you spin me out or when you bring me back in to you? Am I weakened by knowing that at any time you might let me go? Is there a danger that I might fall and not be falling into you? What would it be if I fell and I were alone without you to pull me up?
Or do I simply prefer dancing in line? Here I can dance alone without the concern of stepping on your toes. I can be strong and independent while absent of the fear of being angered by your interactions in my life. What am I saddened when I discover solitude?
What would it be if we challenged ourselves with the intricate syncopated steps of the tango? If my steps mirrored yours, am I weakened? If I allow you to tilt my uncontrolled body close to the ground, how do I know that you will lift me up once more into your protective arms? If I embrace the sensuality of this dance, will you know that this is a rare and frightening place for me?
So hold me gently and tenderly. Make me certain that I am the one you choose. Treat me like a cherished treasure. Know that I am fragile. Dance with me, my love.
Your wife,
P