drawing of a human figure

My Tanguero -- Anonymous

We finished our embrace and
the task at hand was for me to
know where he held his heart
in check. "I love you" he said,
and I laughed. "For the moment,"
he finished and for once, finally,
we were in the midst of motion.
In harmony, again. He knew I
knew his battle. He knew I could
hear his heart. He knew I would
not bother to tear his mind apart
from the delusions of his grandeur,
from the fears of his forgotten memories,
from the moments of his past.

In the dark we came together as
separate hearts. Knowing our
dispersion, knowing our divided
paths would no longer cross as
intersected beings, but as ones
who know no holds apart from
each other, apart from the past.
The whirl of new emotions, in a
state of motioned beings, cannot
forsake the pain of never-ending
days. Time grabs its hold and
gives rise to fleeting notions of
success of love and grace. To be
achieved through solace and
completion of undisguised emotions
and beating of the heart.

Dance in the dark and man will
make his way to you. Unresolved,
unfinished, incomplete, yet finished
in the eyes of time's unmasked
conscience. The flicks of finite being
finding their place in heart that makes
no demand, asks no more than to be
a part of one small dance, on one
dark floor, where no one else is
watching, where no man is far from
another, nor beyond his true self.

The scuffles of the floor mark
the beating of his heart. Square
the passage of true meaning to a
place where others can observe this
and that and the way grace reveals
truth and truth's direction beyond
minute appeals of those who wish to
control their dancing, who hold close
to their hearts the key of blind devotion
to the ephemeral art of mind without
motion, of heart selved to heart.
Thought resolves itself as the mind's
blind disguiser, of passion gone awry.

Dance into the whirl of your lover's
blind eye and you will find everlasting
love. A never-ending sky wherein
the heart beats its own tango, the heart
makes its own way toward the step of
true blue loving. True blue love knows
its never-ending, knows its own way,
and the dancers never notice that it
controls the sway of unbending thought,
of untangling strayed emotions, and of
leading them to everlasting day.

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