Moon’s symphony in heaven

undulates to tempo of stars.

My heart pounds out rhythm

of sweet surrender

to breaths of dreams.

I feel the ceaseless pulse

of my pain – a staccato beat

of specks of ash from

psyche’s chasm, hearing

faint pulsing verses of the past

between eyelash blinks.

A flow of steamy metaphors

playing with words of sensuality

melding skin in pulse beats.

Everlasting tunes of eternal beauty,

lilting lyrics flow beneath kiss of destiny

tracing patterns in the wind

as light finds its home,

catching life in its inner rhythm.

Tunes walking inside our minds

moving seductively in slow motion

to the beating pulse of life’s sun

existing within our cadence.

Wings of love swaying

to rhapsody of breezes.

I remember, when I stop to think

Of the days we danced a lively beat

We'd bend and turn and sway in perfect sync

But now we stumble on each other's feet

A mere stubbing of the little toe

I skipped a step; You botched a bend

A little laugh, you say you didn't know.

And I, too did not notice, I pretend

Somehow we find, we drifted from the hall.

Where we danced as one, there's now a gaping space.

I no longer hear the melody at all

And in the foggy night I can't make out your face.

It's been so long...would there be another chance

That we could find the music and learn again to dance?

Her hand in yours, eyes entwined,

One does not see what one describes.

You sculpt her like Ono,

You call yourself beau.

Her lips full beyond desire,

Her thighs two conducting wires,

Your touch to blush a tender moan,

Your voice to hush and chaperone,

She'll flow, you'll know,

Quid pro quo.

moonbeams on palm trees

ice cubes tumble from my glass

my hips snap and glide

in rumbling rhythm

with yours

flushed and shaking

though an ocean breeze

swirls my hair

in the scant space

between us

tipsy, silly salsa dancing

we fall laughing, shoes flying

as the sea glitters on night sand

your warm hands on my face, my back

I'm thirsty and younger and

I want more

The rest of them keep it at a two step, and the really classy ones are brave enough to branch out to maybe a simple waltz. 

But not me. I don't dance to those songs.

Outside of the dance floor, I'm the biggest dork to them. 

But once my music comes on, the lights sweep the room and goosebumps slither up my spine, I find my rhythm.

I love it when that happens.

I can dance.

And they can't stop me.

Remove me from this world, 12 bar.

Make me Blue and Black without a bruise.

Smother all things up, a blue like this one.

Under the Sky so rich with you– Night or Day, a smothering, in beautiful suffocation.

The elegance of Death's demeanour. As all's a blur for just a while.

But I'll ask again, to sink once more,

in Blue slumber.

Oft misunderstood concept of rhythm,

Simply recognizing the music’s beat.

Not a convoluted algorithm,

Just feeling the cadence, moving your feet.

Take a moment to hearken the tempo,

Embrace the melodic modulation.

Foxtrot, waltz, tango, even calypso,

Cultivate increased appreciation.

Cadence similar to a poet’s rhyme,

Rising and lilting meter to measure,

An occasion to embrace the sublime,

Opportunity for immense pleasure.

Everybody can learn how to dance,

Relinquish your panic and take a chance.

She said "extra et cetera" of my plethora of feathers while buttoning her sweater up. Anticipating better months, temptation should weather us. If it doesn't better us, tell the chapel not to prepare for us, the priest have no prayer for us, and our exes needn't swear for lust of us, our brunch, and honeymoon fun. Needn't the sun fall for our horizon run, needn't we these shades for fear that sun might blind someone. Needn't I find a name to bind to our son. If I could be tamed, my mind wouldn't run. Though I am not tamed, harmless I remain because I mind no one.

It's the staccato beat

the buzzing hum

I tap my feet

to the pounding drum

smooth and steady

nearly ready

music burning

body yearning

Sway to the swooshing melody

Samba sweet and eerily dreamy

pulsing

shocking

shaking

flowing

the rhythm of my heart

is the shot in the dark

the music of life

as I stroll

artsy, boho. classic sprays

splashes, colors, sins of days

steady on now 

thrum, thrum, thrum

Tom Tom, snare or cajon.

The flowing rhythm of the night

when blood boils and fever spikes

dancing, gliding, moving fast

the beat goes on the hours past.

Everything that goes on in the mind,

goes on for a while

remains for sometime,

then vanishes with time.

Traces of what remain in mind constitute to form what is known as memory.

Memories have got place, position, space and time in everyone's life.

Memories are part of everyone's life.