Wine and Glances

In a corner dim she stands and wonders
If she could have made a mistake.
The light and the music around her thunders,
And causes her hands to shake.
But then she shakes her head and stands still,
Hands motionless too at her will.

She knows that she was not mistaken
At what she saw in his eyes,
Over a plate her thought had forsaken
For the glowing light dark and wise
Of a cup of red and sweetest wine
That his look only made the more divine.

She has heard the whispers of the game
That all the women have played
That makes love and passion much the same,
And will make her no more a maid.
This game is played with wine and glances
More than it is with words or dances.

The thoughts of the poets' wailing songs
Rushed through her when he looked
As the sun will on the moon when he longs
To write in his golden books
Of the hopeless love and shining passion
That long years in the sky may fashion.

Her hands brush over her red gown,
Dark and potent as the wine;
She knows it sets off the ruddy brown
Of her hair where rubies shine.
Her eyes are the same hue, bright and dark,
Red-tinged brown with an ember's spark.

She knows she moves like the laughing wind
When she dances, and where she steps
There poets have written their minds have dimmed
With longing while their hearts wept.
But to know oneself through melody
Is not to know what lover's eyes may see.

She is but newcome to this kind of court
Where lovers are unbound by duty.
She is more accustomed to the other sort-
Not heedless romance with beauty,
Not the kind where a poet's loving hymn
Is sung out while the room goes dim.

She may have mistaken his intent.
She might have mistaken his glance.
Why did she give without words her assent
When she could have asked to dance?
She might have been in his arms on the floor
Instead of in a shadow here by the door.

And then she starts and turns at his voice.
"My lady, I pray for your grace.
I would not have delayed had I a choice."
She turns to see his shamed face.
He holds out a hand, with shakes with desire.
His voice is a whisper. "You are the fire."

And she is, as the knowledge of her own power
Races through her like the curling flame.
She smiles at him, and her face like a flower
Opens as he whispers her name.
She holds out a hand and throws back her head.
In the flash of fire-laughter, all doubts are dead.

"Forgiven," she says, with one careless glance,
And watches as his breath catches.
"I have waited long; would you like to dance?"
And now he is breathing in snatches.
She takes his hand without comment or word,
And moves away from the corner like a dark bird.

They wheel across the floor, while his eyes green
Watch her with love that bright glows.
She smiles and laughs, in dance the flame-queen
Who more swiftly than even the wind goes.
She dances, and her heart and mind take her higher,
Kindling her dark ember into full-blown fire.