You ask....

Does she dance with me, or do I dance with her? Beauty such as hers, she must be mad  - her eyes are bright suns; sweat glistens on her unmasked face. I dance with her... She dances with me...the rhythm we keep,  is it  my heart? Or is it hers?  They beat as one, or so she whispers.....

In the moment I am with her,  that precious fleeting moment!  The heat!  The passion!  The sound of two hearts beating in  unison overwhelms me!  I withdraw into the dark behind my mask; i hide from her .... for reasons unknown. She is as the sun; her light is bright and pure. Never has this light touched my face,  shielded as I am by the many masks I have forged in life.

She wears no masks...perhaps the were stolen? Broken? In all likelihood they were just cast off. The light of life shines on her face in a way that it has never shown on mine. She calls me back into that moment. Her eyes call to mine...with her I cast off my mask, perhaps foolishly, perhaps not. There is no time for thought under the bright sun of emotion; no time for thought during the dance of the mad......