By Princess Leia
Date: 4 August 2000

The Dance of the Cinema

We sit in our seats,
Side by side,
Separated.
Staring ahead at the screen,
Armrest between.
Not touching.
Just two.
Silence.
But there is magnetism.
There is a force, a pulling force.
And I turn
To say something, something funny,
Something we laugh at.
And look away,
Staring ahead at the screen,
Armrest between.
Not touching.
Just two.
Only two.
Loud silence.
And it is stronger now:
The oneness from the other side of tonight--
The oneness that must be waited on.
A turning in my stomach,
An anticipation.
And we speak again,
But more this time,
Without words--with eyes,
Eyes that are caugt by an invisible string.
We look away
Only after too much is said,
Not said.
Staring ahead at the screen,
Armrest between.
Not touching,
Wanting to touch.
Not two,
Not one,
But both, somehow.
And the force--
The magnetism--
Is too great,
And it is a need
Or an addiction
Or whatever, but I have to touch him.
And I speak to him again;
I touch his shoulder to ask him a question.
My hand lingers
(My hand's own mind tells it to)
And I forget about it
--but I don't.
And there is no choice now.
Reluctantly
Staring ahead at the screen,
Armrest between,
Yet testing it out.
Now just beginnning to touch.
He shifts in his seat
To get closer--
Yet it is unspoken--
And I do the same.
Not two.
Not one.
Not knowing.
The mind ceases to watch the film
--Out of necessity?  Out of want?
No.
Of none of its own accord.
It recognizes the need now.
And the senses are alive and excited and alert and ready.
We move--no, are drawn--
Closer together
Without knowing,
But always knowing.
I am in his arms
--without his arms.
Only the acknowledgement is missing.
And it is too soon.
And it is time enough.
And I am trembling with excitement in a still, patient body.
And I wait forever
And then another second.
I am frightened.
Rush of relief--
A chill--
When he touches me.
I do not pull away
And he sees I like it,
I want it,
I need it,
I accept it.
And the barriers tumble down rapidly.
For the last few moments
Staring ahead at the screen,
Armrest between, underneath, around, but not there.
Not touching,
But melding and melting and combined.
Not two.
Just one.
I am content, and safe, and warm.
In his arms.

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