A Night to Dance, Part One

Here up on the balcony
the sounds below seem
as far as the ocean in a desert,
with just the barest vibrations
humming their way up
the spiral staircase
and through the thick curtains.
It is a pleasant waltz
the band is playing now,
a familiar one from my childhood
that I used to daydream to,
imagining a night
much like this one,
with the ballroom full to bursting,
soft silks and ruffled lace
like gossamer adorning all the
fashionable ladies' corset-made forms,
crystal goblets delicately tinkling
and jeweled skirts and necks
twinkling in the starlight,
and the soft murmur
of conversation in the garden.
Tonight, it seems,
is a fulfillment of that long-held
dream of childish fantasy.

And yet, all is not
as I would have it;
for there is, in my heart,
an element missing.

Despite my efforts
to plunge myself into the
massive shifting ocean of taffeta
and lace,
notwithstanding my attempts
to converse intelligently with
the great lords and ladies,
in spite of endeavoring to appear
as the great and gentle hostess
and lady that my mother
had reared me to be,
not one of the faces I encountered
possessed a single line
in their visage that bespoke
a friendly, amiable disposition,
but rather the polar opposite
of contempt, disdain,
and a vicious foible
to smoothly lie and deceive
in order to gain a higher placement
with the loftier nobility.

Gazing out upon
the winking garden lights,
I find my spirits sinking ever lower,
ever deeper,
reducing so to the point
that the beginnings of salty diamonds
appear in the corner of my eyes.
A sigh escapes my lungs,
a silent plea to the passive night
to release me from this
involuntary isolation.

Just as I resign
to a night of seclusion,
a rustle of the embroidered drapery
catches my sharp attention.
From behind the cloth divider
appears the greatest glimmer of hope
that I have had all evening,
which appears to me
the most beautiful and heroic form.

It is a young man,
about my own age,
muscular and trim,
and finely dressed to boot.
His hair is wavy and thick,
falling across his clear forehead
in the most pleasant way possible,
just above a pair of the most
exotic and expressive eyes
in a hue most akin to the ocean on
a perfect sunny day in a tropical cove.