The Textiliste and I have been dancing for many years now and have developed a decent repertoire of Latin and Ballroom classics.
There’s this myth about dancing, that the man leads. Fortunately same sex dancing has knocked that on its head and, anyway Ginger Rogers famously pointed out she did just as much as her partner Fred Astaire only she did it backwards and in high heels.
For us dancing has always been a partnership, neither able to do it as well without the other. In my case I have a better memory for the steps; in the Textiliste’s case she keeps us on time – left to me the music would become like that piped into lifts: pleasant if unmemorable background.
Sometime ago this inspired a sonnet on our relationship as seen through the eyes of our dancing twosome.
Today this picture appeared in my FB timeline posted by the Vet a few years ago and reminded me of that poem. I hope you enjoy them both.
The Hand That Guides
Your consoling hand sits light on my sleeve,
A Macavity tap to release me on four;
We set sail, in step, gliding with ease
Past blind spots and honey pots strewn on the floor.
I fumble to catch that elusive toe-tap
Which, if I could, would allow me my head.
You remind me, by way of a quick finger snap,
Of the dangers where taking that path might lead.
I continually try to do it my way,
To give into weakness of flesh and of soul
But you hold the leash tight; I cannot stray
And we remain linked; two parts of one whole.
May it always be thus as we gib and we tack;
You looking forward, my hand at your back