Sharing Her Aura
by Mark Word
We agree to meet -- a reenactment of love at first sight,
As a thousand times before when we dance.
No dance is just another dance; it is our first or perhaps our last.
As I arrive, I see her and sense that she has not yet danced.
I can see it in her face, her lack of light.
Others too, sit like ghosts, black and white, blurred, waiting to dance.
Those dancing have color -- the spectrum playfully dancing through their body.
Their auras mingle in a depth of color, sometimes shooting rays.
I catch her eye; she nods assent with her eyes that I may approach her.
As she waits, I savor our soul-through-eye-connection, until I stand before her.
The black and white hues of our hands meet and we watch the color
Fill in our grayish, charcoal-sketched outlines, starting at our fingers,
Color fills our hands, arms, and in moments our entire being comes to life in color.
Her amber hue fills faster than mine, as if her soul is thirsty from anticipation.
She admires, with a smile, how her amber goes so well with my purplish hue.
We walk to the wooden path, joining the orchestra with our body-instruments.
At the command of the di Sarli that plays, we embrace and listen to the pulse.
As we embrace, the spectrum of music dances in us like a flame from an ancient bonfire.
Like an ancient prayer that has been prayed countless times,
How often has this musical flame danced in this fashion
Between two connected hearts of embodied souls, I wonder.
Does the Music rejoice, happy that yet another two sojourners would join
These immortal tones, etched into the Universe's cerebral cortex?
My essence stays mostly purple, hers mostly amber as the music stops.
But as we return at tanda's end, I see my paths of purple go through her,
And her electric, golden strands move over me with amber rays darting from my shoulders.
This is why we come, time and time again.
To share an aura or to find ours again.