Last Dance.

On that humid summer night we danced.

To the muffled squeaks from the whirling antique fan

Beethoven's Moonlight sonata playing in the background.


You held me tight as we twirled

the faint breeze barely dissipating the clammy heat.

But still we danced on, round and round.

In silence for things need not be spoken.


Till the street lights winked out, one by one.

And night drew its last shuddering breath

In the languid light of breaking dawn.