Cold Comforts (Life’s Dance)

The cream smoothness of her skin enchanted,
A pale portrait to her quicksilver eyes;
Metallic and sharp, alert to observe my every detail.
Bowing, we interlinked fingers; hers were gloved,
And moved across the dance floor with acquired finesse.
Effortless, she travelled as though on ice,
The same ice that permeated her being, her soul.
How long must you frequent someone
Before realising them frosted through choice.
We parted with barely a smile, much less a farewell.
She judged me right to the point of departure.
I judged myself from the moment I chose her hand.

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