I meet a boy on the

crowded dance floor

of Temple Bar in Dublin.

Our eyes lock through

throngs of people,

bodies moving, sliding, jumping

to the same beat of some

American 80's dance mix

sent forward twenty years through time

and across an ocean

for the sole purpose of

making our hips sway and

our hands grasp at the air,

longing to reach out and

feel another person,

another idea,

another dream.

This boy and I slowly inch

our way to each other

our bodies drawn like

magnets made out of heat,

our eyes playful, flirting.

They lock and hold then

dart away, playing

hide and go seek with intentions

that are betrayed only by

a sly smile and raised eyebrows.

Only a few people apart

we begin to circle each other

dancing, separated by only

a few bodies

or only a few inches,

sometimes close enough to touch--

the soft wool of his

black sweater brushing against the

skin of my arm sending

pinpricks of heat down my

back and my legs;

sometimes far away,

the my skin burning with the need

for contact, for control.

We dance only next to,

never with each other

our eyes expressing ideas

and emotions our bodies

never could.

We don't speak a common language so

we communicate through the lyrics

of the songs pumping in

from over head--our

eyes meeting at key moments,

our lips forming words in my

native tongue that I can

only hope he understands.

The music takes a slower,

more seductive turn,

and our

movements change to match.

I feel the heat rise in my face

as his eyes sink down my body,

following my every move

and I find myself dancing only for him,

losing myself to some

privative mating ritual,

allowing my body to speak the

volumes my mind would

never allow my

mouth to say.

Were either of us different people

we would reach out with more than

just our eyes, grasping with

hands and mouths,

tongues fighting each other for

control, feet moving for

an isolated corner where

I would lift my skirt and

we would fuck against the wall,

lost within the magic of the night

and the darkness of the bar

and the possibility of connection

in this atomized world.

We our only ourselves, however,

and as the clock strikes twleve, the

night is over and

the spell is broken and

I must rush to my cross city bus to

my hotel before it is turned into a pumpkin and

I'm forced to walk the ten miles home.

Our eyes meet one final time

and we say goodbye with a wink and a wave

and I turn away, smiling,

knowing that, while not a word was spoken,

what was said spoke volumes.

It was the most satisfying conversation I have ever had.