Punch Bowl Dancing

He was by the punch bowl talking to his friends. It was now or
never. I moved over to the bowl. I picked up a cup and purposely put my
hand on his as we both reached for the ladle. He looked at me with eyes
of gentle, soft hazel, visible under his mane of ear length brown hair.
He smiles at me gingerly.
"Would you like some punch?" he asks. I almost squeal in delight. A
soft Irish accent lilts his crisp, cool voice. "Or would you like to
dance?" I nod in agreement. "I would love to dance."

He takes my hand and we move out to the floor. His arms fix themselves
on my waist and shoulder and mine place themlsves on his shoulders. The
music starts and we move.
There are no words to describe it. The music becomes one with our
dancing. He twirls me around and around, and we dance and dance. People
gather around to watch what we do. They start talking. I hear them say
words like:

Fantasic
Beautiful
Graceful
Delicate
Exquisite
Excellent
Comley
Lovely
Sweet

Words that I hear, but do not understand. We move along the floor as
one, not two beings. Twirling, whirling, all around. I do not want
tonight to end. We are perfect together. Either way you put it, and I
cannot think of anything but staying here and dancing.

Then, the music stops.

He lets go of me and turns away. I stand there, defeated by the end of
the song. It is more than just a song. It is a group of simple sound,
strung together to make the best moment of my life. I turn away from
him and he walks back to the punch bowl.