Dancing Turk

They stoop in to a Turkish bar.

Under Kaleidoscopic tesselating lights, the Turk weaves his hand in her
direction and she is whisked in to his grasp.

They dance close.

He takes her hand and the bar becomes a hum: far away.

He tells her they will dance in the street and they do.

They dance under the dark sky in the deserted street.

Their gentle swaying forms are illuminated by the slither of light from
a slot in the blackness.

The sound of their conversing feet punctuating a blind but governed
diction,

slices through the silent observational darkness.