You are in the center of the stage,

looking resolute and confident

prepping for the physical ordeal

or the rampant exhiliration

in your red flowy dress and velvet shoes

The melodies of the guitarist below you

plays somewhat of an Andalusian riff

ebbing and flowing with your hands

which do a kind of windmill, flowy gesture

a graceful flourish

Then all grace is trumped by an urgency,

the movements, at first slow

are now rapid, furious and mesmerizing

a jump here, a kick there,

subtle cadences and looks and kinetic display

All you do is move

and move and move

and move and move

then stop your angelical paces

for a moment as the dance ends,

your body crouching

coming to a stop on the lucky gentlemean

in the front row.

He smiles, blushing.

He is able to catch you wink

just before your head comes down

and the guitar player ends his heated melody.

The crowd claps.

You rise, smiling, your face and torso flushed with sweat

from the workout of the flamenco dance you expertly

performed.

Minutes pass and you are at my side, in normal clothing,

hanging onto my arm with the fervor of your successful night,

beaming happily as we make our way across the street to

our favorite sushi bar.

The man in the front row you winked at was me.

I am fortunate to have you, my fiery ardent flame,

my lush flamenco princess

whose smile lights my heart

in thousand different ways

only to blush when i call her

beautiful.

I love the way she blushes.

I compliment her again, on her dancing,

so full of grace and precision and ardor.

she whispers in my ear how much of that ardor

has been left aside,

for another kind of dance.

One with candles,

a cooperative spirit,

two glasses of wine,

and behind closed doors

before the sun rises.

(Thanks for reading. comments encouraged and appreciated)

Lovely as usual! A few words misspelled but the thought conveyed is wonderful!

Noted, fixed! And thank you!

Loved it

Loved it as always

back at ya