Brandon

There are seldom things more beautiful than the extension of arms, the pointed toe, and face. 

Commitment. Passion. Dance.

He inspires me by the way he moves: so graceful, so thick, so powerful. I wanted to be his abused mistress in the red slip and painted red lip. I wanted him to erect me by the knees, grip me by the legs. I wanted his arms around my stomach and my eyes deep in his hands. 

Deeper. Pulse. Pulse.

He moves consistently; it's like liquid water. His flesh rushes under the dim light to the rhythm in A minor, and I. could. cry. I've never seen anything so handsome. So pleasing. His arch is what perfect looks like.

Bend. Curl. Return.

I stayed until the final number and the curtains closed. No encore. The lights came on and I sat there, staring at him through the scarlet veil of a job well done. He will never stop dancing, can never stop dancing in my memory. 8 counts.

Shirt. Tie. Barefeet.

Fade to black and then back again from the top.