He spied her from across the crowded dance floor. Yet he saw not a soul but her. He heard tales of her beauty and realized instantly they did little to describe what he was gazing upon.
Her care not attitude only made his desire deepen. His feet frozen, nailed to the floor. He had to speak to her, if he did nothing more. He had to speak, just to hear her voice.
He glided across the floor passing the dancers as if they were standing still. Finally he was in her edifice, the scent of lilacs filled his being. She turned, her hair the color of ripe wheat laid on shoulder as gentle as a butterfly's wing.
He swallowed hard, the beads of nerves rolling down his face. Her eyes met his, they held him spellbound. Her gentle smile told him his question was ok, and wanted. He cleared his throat and with shy tongue he spoke.
-Johnny V
No comments:
Post a Comment