By Paganthal
That night, with music beneath our feet, we climbed the spiral staircase to the cool rooftop and watched the moon rise behind the trees. Their slender branches drew dark strokes against its silver face. The air flowed cool and delightful over bodies still hot from all that dancing.
It was the time of the virus. We talked and stupidly searched the skies to find the Southern Cross.
Now I wish I’d put my arms around you, and gazed into your liquid swimming pool eyes and told you that you are beautiful. And put my lips to your smile and kissed you.
This is beautifully written but I find conflict in the fact that there are regrets in not holding or kissing someone (prophylactic distancing) who was at a party where there were many people dancing.