The Dance

She, with pipe-cleaner curls undulating to the beat, and He, with day-old pomade attempting a sweep- proceeded to collide haphazardly. Sticky particles threatening tangles born over hours of hot-iron induced torture braved honorably. Circle to circle, round the bend, through the river of lava, and finally greeted by a crowd of vultures- at what hour shall the waltz be won, who shall emerge the victor- pray, can “the” ever stand alone- ask them if They fancy an end to the term. And so They became gradually. And They danced until the dance was done.

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