All The Time In The World

We dance around our little flat to Louis Armstrong lost in a ballroom of our own longing your breath on my nuzzled neck precious beyond preciousness a kiss here and there still glowing in your hair a logfire playing with our shadows dancing on the ceiling time (ceases to exist) (what's it to us?) somehow we no longer need it only Louis's voice telling us that we (& we believe him) have all the time in the world & so with yawns & laughter laughter & yawns we dance into a dawn. ******* OUR OWN THING We put a record on the gramaphone the needle fishes for the tune catches a melody from the black pool the shellac waves rising...falling! I, in top hat & tails looking like a dapper Irish Fred Astaire you all Ginger Rodgers'd a Marcel wave in your hair. We are dancing 'Cheek to Cheek' 'You dance divinely darling! ' I whisper to your hair. 'And you...you dance so...very badly! ' 'That's what I like about you my dear ...you never lie! ' 'Well, hardly ever! ' The music ends &...begins again. 'May I...? ' 'You may...! ' We dance around & in between around the large furniture in our little flat a room as if Magritte had painted it! It's just another Friday night when we should be going out but we are content to be stayin' in enjoying oursleves doin' our own thing. ******* LIVING IN THE MOMENT The music has long since stopped & so not wanting to break the spell we dance to the silence my hand on the small of your back your hand on the back of my neck our faces dissolved into a kiss as if becoming one with the gramphone & it's hiss the clock on the mantlepiece merely an artifice incapable of telling time we move blindly around the room unwilling for the moment to end.