The Waltz
I'm in love with my ballroom dance teacher.
Everything about the way him from the way he hops, shuffles, and glides to how he always wears his dark sunglasses clear from the parking lot through the building and into our studio before nonchalantly tossing them away whispers of an ancient grace. His boom box has a bumper sticker on the front panel that says "Life is great when you're Sicilian."
Then there's his NAME, oh, his name. It's ARTURO. Did you ever hear something so classy in your life? He's got this STYLE, this POISE that just rips through the room and bounces happily from the chandeliers and when we're twirling, oh, how we're twirling; my feet are fleet doves and my ruffles are positively everywhere.
As far as I can see he is the perfect match for me except for this one thing: he's eighty-eight, and I just had my twentieth birthday.
Another time, another time, and until then...until then, I think I'm just going to secretly practice my cha-cha into the wee hours.
Everything about the way him from the way he hops, shuffles, and glides to how he always wears his dark sunglasses clear from the parking lot through the building and into our studio before nonchalantly tossing them away whispers of an ancient grace. His boom box has a bumper sticker on the front panel that says "Life is great when you're Sicilian."
Then there's his NAME, oh, his name. It's ARTURO. Did you ever hear something so classy in your life? He's got this STYLE, this POISE that just rips through the room and bounces happily from the chandeliers and when we're twirling, oh, how we're twirling; my feet are fleet doves and my ruffles are positively everywhere.
As far as I can see he is the perfect match for me except for this one thing: he's eighty-eight, and I just had my twentieth birthday.
Another time, another time, and until then...until then, I think I'm just going to secretly practice my cha-cha into the wee hours.