Strange and familiar things

That old familiar obsession,

Of things taken for granted

And stolen moments lost.

That strange familiarity,

Which time can never diffuse,

Nor absence, extinguish.

That familiar obsession ,

Of lust and desire ever burning

And passions never satisfied.

That familiar tune,

To which we all dance

Albeit, involuntarily

To the rhythm of love,

And this strange rhythm

Of muscular contractions

From the vision to the motion.

If love had a tune,

If music had a heart,

And we all opened ourselves

To listen to the words and rhythm,

To dance the shameless dance

And ignore rude loudness

Of condescending authority.

The samba and the strings

And gyrating hips,

And the undulating in the loins of virility,

In perfect harmony.

Like our hearts would unite.

That old familiar sound,

Never forgotten

Forever embraced

Always out of reach.

That new taste

Of fluids that arouse the senses

And only shared by two

Music, food and dance,

All in unison

As if all are one

Yet none is the other.

That present yearning,

Of a long lost hope

And a hope still smouldering,

In it, the yearning fuels itself.

It will happen one day

In a combustion of everything,

Perhaps too much for a single event,

Too heavy for a single heart

Or a million hearts thereof.

It will happen so fast

And after which nothing is left behind

But pure bliss.