One more time on the dance floor

It’s Friday night and
we are alright
getting ready to dance one more time
there is no one here
in the empty space
but me and her shadow

where she used to stand

dance, dance, dance
frivolous romance
it is one more dance
to the syncopated beat
the drummers are here
moving slow through the graces
of those familiar places

the rhythm is mine to hold
and her hand is cold
but her stares is warm and lively
two dark holes where she used to be
now and me
eternity.

Where did the wasted spaces go?

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