Moonlight Waltz
Elaine takes the lead. I’m captured by the moment.
Waltzing in the moonlight. Rapture in the movement.
Through hemlocks and laurels, we dance into the forest.
The rustle of the pine trees is drowning out the chorus.
Music’s final whisper merges unto brownness,
disappears into the branches. Emptiness surrounds us.
She wears a red bandanna, a skirt made out of clover,
a diamond on her finger. She says I’ll be her lover.
In her pocket is a Bible. She says she’ll read it one day.
I’m eager for salvation. I’m a child on Christmas Sunday.
Growing tired of dancing. My eyes are over-glazing. She
says she knows the answers to the questions I am phrasing.
A prisoner of her presence. Her grip is getting stronger.
My breath’s becoming labored. Our strides are ever longer.
We see a light before us. I sense there is a clearing.
In the clearing is an altar with a candle softly burning.
Like a star within a circle, a circle without ending,
a ring that shines forever shall never be relenting.
Elaine takes my hand. She guides me to the table.
I yield up my religion like an infant in the stable.
We taste forbidden pleasure, drink across the seasons,
feel the earth like Jesus did, but Jesus had his reasons.
She takes me for her acolyte, anoints me in the morning,
appoints me as her namesake, but never calls a warning.
Elaine takes the lead. She tells me where I’m going.
She spends the night beside me. She promises to guide me,
cover me and hide me, calm the fear inside me,
with endless love provide me. She holds my willing body
in her hands.
Author: Bob McAfee
Photo: Scott Broome on Unsplash
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