The Love Dance

By Stephanie Mann

Talking is an art form, here we create rooms to visit later when we feel nostalgic. Marballed rooms, equipt with sturdy beds, fire place and rose petals. A veranda to stand and stare over suitable gardens, the aroma from the flowers emanating through the air.

The court spiraled out in front of us, this place of dreams and darkness away visions. We focus on the distant sunrise, or sunset, I could never tell, as the day comes and goes, the vision still remains, we meet here, on a bridge to eternity watching the waves bump up against distant shores. Having coffee, cheers to those dreams.

They ever live on that veranda, replete with marble, dining with long stem glasses, orange juice and champagne, staring out at the irony of the world, enclosed by our dreams and visions, meeting as the day begins, and ends. The light of the Sun, or the Moon, soon.

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