her heart a glass of haunted roses - a bourrée

her heart a glass of haunted roses - a bourrée       
            
     Her heart is a glass of haunted roses. Weatherworn Ellis Island faces rise like Lazarus from family memory books. Theirs is the immigrant waltz learned from grandparents who danced on the shores of America upon arrival.
     In the society for the creative anachronism, the sweethearts are illuminated by the eternal flame of young love made light by the glow of fire dancers.
     Rowena says, “I’m so glad you made it here my dear. Now let’s take a whirl around this place. They’re playing a galliard.  That’s our song.”
     Leaf replies, “Your face looks beatific under the torchlight. The smile on your face is like the sun. Hold my hand and I’ll take you on a trip.”
     Rowena says, “You look adorable in your geek outfit. Here we go my wonderful freak.”
     “Look at you. You look like a Pythian priestess ready to make a prophecy with your fiery eyes,” Leaf says.
     “Careful my eyes don’t burn you,” Rowena replies.
     “You funny girl, I can’t help but look now,” Leaf counters.
     “Watch out my dizzy lover. We don’t want to bump anyone. Our shoes seem to be going in different directions” Rowena admonishes.
     “I am already crashed. You have me spellbound” Leaf succumbs.
     “Let’s sit together and have a coke. I’m out of breath,” Rowena gasps.
     “I’m breathless too. A soda sounds great.”
     “Now let’s get our cokes.”
     “Oh, this drink is so refreshing. In a minute I want you to take me around the ballroom again. It may be an outdoor ballroom but the stars in the sky are reflected in our eyes. I’m sorry I can’t kiss you on the lips yet. I’m not ready for that. However, I love kissing your cheek. Your skin is so soft and boyish” Rowena exults.
     Leaf says, “Well that coke went down nice. Hey, they’re playing an allemande. Care to cut a rug with me again?”
     Rowena rejoices “Oh I love that music! Let’s do it!”
     “Let me take your hand my darling one.”
     “Leaf I feel my youth slipping away. Hold onto me and never let go,” Rowena pleads.
     “Lovers will come and go. Yet we will remember this as our golden age. One day in some city I’ll think of you. For now, we have ancient music and each other. This moment is the real thing. Live it with me in perfect harmony my love” Leaf says.
     “Oh, Leaf you sound like a soda advertisement.”
     “I know. But I meant it sincerely.”
     “That is what I love about you. You know I could use a kiss now. Pucker up, my boy. How lovely, Leaf. I need an encore.”
     “Your cherry pop kiss is a lip sugar libation,” Rowena says.
     “Well, I’m your huckleberry. It was only my first try” Leaf muses.
     “It was my first kiss too. I always wanted my first to be with a boy like you.”
     “I confess I always wanted to kiss you.”
     “You are beautiful. I have a couple of questions for you before we go steady. If a Carmenesque woman perfumed in Oud wanted you for a boyfriend would you stay with me?”  
     “Of course, I would. You are prettier without makeup than Carmen all dolled up.”
     “Oh, Leaf I am swooning. Now, if a kidnapper said, ‘It’s either you or the girl’ What would you do?”
     “I’d do what any true gentleman would do. Does that answer your question?”
     “Yes! Yes, it does. They’re playing a Sarabande. Be my troubadour. I wouldn’t leave you for him either.”
     “Let’s dance together. We’re only young once. Let’s do it well.”
     Rowena exclaims, “Hey, there go the castanets. We are Moors in the Alhambra when my henna illustrated hands held your world like a pomegranate to the original world beat!”
     Rowena continues, “Though my shoes are designed for the tennis court rather than the court of the Sun King with those customary heels, this ballroom floor feels like grapes I am mashing for fermentation. But ours is a good crop. As long as I gather my skirt I can see my steps to keep from falling.”
     She needs an 18th-century Gavotte with her true
love. This is a dance for peasants who kiss at the renaissance festival where they are chaperoned by her auntie on account of them having shared a root beer after midnight. Their buttery feet are a slippery start for habitual soda souses whose Cajun patois may find them sharing a houseboat in the Atchafalaya.
     She sneezes and tells him, “You know you could catch my sinus infection.”
     He replies, “A dance with you would be more than worth getting the sniffles.”
     She says, “Oh, you would get a stuffy nose for me. That is true love.”