Fox trot. Tango. Waltz. Bboy. Salsa. Hell, even the hokey pokey. Dancing isn't waving around, it isn't just moving smoothly and with rhythm, it's telling a story. It's like poetry without the iambic pentameter or the end rhyme, a story. Dancing, music, poetry, stories, they've all brought me to tears of observance and understanding. It's like having your body drained of water, or contents, of insides, and being refilled and stuffed packed with music or movements of smooth dancing. Like thick cotton candy, or a good hot plate of pasta when thats all you're in the mood for, smooth four cheese tomato sauce spread on top of some well cooked manicotti noodles.
My urge, my desire more so to dance is so overwhelming that my knees have been dirty for year as I've prayed. To be able to move with grace and be gazed at as if you were floating or a well oiled machine moving with ease against the wind.... I just want to dance.
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