The Difference in Our Step
A short story in verse about two men dancing
Step, step, step
The dance we have across the floor.
I hold his hand.
He holds mine.
I feel the coldness of his flesh
against my palm.
His hand on my waist
is firm.
I feel my eyes meet his, face hot
and he smiles.
In that playful, almost teasing way
- it makes me want to push away -
but I know he doesn’t mean it.
Not in the way I’m assuming
I hope, at least.
I look away and he draws me closer.
We spin across the floor -
The music is distant.
Some street vendor,
in the night outside our window.
We dance in the dark -
So they can’t see me.
Us.
So they can’t see that he is leading -
That he is in charge of this dance
That I am struggling to remember
how I should step.
That I am a man
dancing as a woman would dance.
I don’t want them to see.
The soft strains of the singing
can still reach us here.
Even though I am trying
to avoid all the attention.
Other than his.
He is the only one
who can see this.
He is the only one -
who I want to see this.
He’s patient.
I feel my heart in my chest
skip a beat at every missed
step
or every missed
t
u
r
n
But he doesn’t seem to notice.
I close my eyes -
for a bit, if nothing else.
And I let him
lead me along.
It’s a trust
that I’m only now
feeling my heart
allow.
My grip … softens
… in his.
And his fingers
more firmly
wrap
around mine.
He pulls me
along.
And smiling.
I find myself
He
feels
right.
…
..
.
The music
begins
to fade.
Our steps slow.
My breath quickens.
He pulls me closer.
And rests his head on my shoulder.
I stop.
He stops.
We stand there.
And listen.
About the Creator
Minte Stara
Small writer and artist who spends a lot of their time stuck in books, the past, and probably a library.
Currently I'm working on my debut novel What's Normal Here, a historical/fantasy romance.
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