Slow Dance

It is a living-room waltz;

Silent music,

Creaking floorboards,

An empty bottle of wine.

The remnants of dinner

Left forgotten on the table.

She rests her head on your shoulder,

Her breath warm against your skin.

He kisses your neck and

Runs his hand down the ridges of your spine.

Either this love will last,

Or it won’t,

And both ideas remind you

That one day this earth will not exist.

For now,

We hang in space like dust,

Watching each other grow and collapse

With the stars that we believe are so permanent.

There is something waiting to be said,

But your breadth gets caught

In that space between your head

And your heart.

There are words written on our bones

That we understand but

Cannot speak,

So we are left to sway together

Between asking questions

And already knowing the answers.

Somehow,

It is enough.