! ! Dancing With Dylan

He is propped on all fours
when I arrive -
almond eyes grave,
face strangely serious.

I smile and say hello.
He doesn't respond at first
but continues to stare -
like a deer
cautious, intent.

I kneel before him
(not too close)
and show him my new red nails.
He moves a little closer

I pick him up
and press his warm, sunny body
against mine.

He doesn't resist
and for several minutes
not a sound passes between us.

Later at the tavern
he laughs, hiding his lips.
I have abandoned my new pink glasses.
He has my chin in his mouth.

I carry him to the dance floor
His laughter is infectious.
We glide across the parquetry,
Dean Martin spins on the turntable.

by Alison Cassidy

Comments (21)

ahh..so it was for you that I was stood up. Romantic poetry and Dylan...both timeless and enduring. A playful poem that enchants with pretend. well done
We have all been dancing with Dylan. Thank you for sharing this warm and beautiful experience with your readers. Love, SandraX
Ali, you have given me a lovely insight of your love for Dylan, having you as a Grandmother.....it would be appropriate to give him a joy for good poetry like this, to give him a second name of Thomas. then you would have two great poets in the family. Love Bobxx 10+
A happy and smiley story in red and pink colours, just superb write, Allie :) thanks for sharing with us. Yelena M.
typical of a toddler...fun time, granny?
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