I was sitting at the wedding feast with six women and a man. We ate and drank and laughed and joked the evening through.

Our table sang love songs; the just married couple kissed; we joined in cheering when they did so.

When we went to dance, one woman went home, the man felt tired and left it all to me.

I danced with five women; it was ecstasy.

The music made me jump; it shook me to the core.

I leaped and twisted, held women in my arms, reached skyward with my arms and sent my energy upward like a worshipper of Bachanal and Baal and Cybele.

No consciousness but joy and upward striving and forward driving and smiling with my face.

The women were filled with grace, enticing me with eyes and bodies and legs so limber.

But midst all of this, you still could claim my soul with your supple gestures, your subtle smile and your sultry eyes.

The others were all outward movement.  You alone could smolder inward and entice me with your glance.

Oh if only such promise of a later union could exceed the dance!

Now much later, I take what I’ve been given: the smiles and giggles of the women, the sense of power in my strength; the rapture of our dance together; the thrill of music in my limbs; the touch of you, however temporary, in my arms.

Will this reinforce my yearning?

Or will it nurture my thirsty soul for months of absence and empty hugs and unmade kisses and plain indifference?

I wait for our next dance.