When he takes her hand for the first time

and it feels like currents under his skin

She hides her want under dusty lashes

giving him a chance to know without ever telling

As they dance to an internal beat,

hips swaying and fingers twisting into silken hair

Even when they're clumsy

Or hurting

Or ruining every romantic moment

It's called love

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And that, dear friend, is what I write for.

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