Poem 11: Dance

The bartender pours the liquor into the cup, and the cloaked man sitting at the counter downs the shot. Across the room lit by dangling citrine lanterns, by the crackling fireplace, a musician starts to play a violin. Raw, rusty sound fills the stuffy but gradually weaves into a fast-paced tune. The regulars at the creaky tables begin to stand up. In a corner, a copper-haired girl sits on a barrel, arms folded, leaning against the grimy wall with a surly scowl. The young man stands up, unfurls his cloak with a smirk, takes her hand and pulls her off her seat. He grabs her by the waist and whirls into the center of the room. Their boots tap the chestnut floorboards, and they dance amidst claps and cheers. She spins around and clasps his hand. Her caramel eyes soften and slowly, her scowl disappears.

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