The Lovers

The Lovers by Beth Moon 




Tango Milonguero


 “We dance tango because we have secrets.”

                     Marilyn Cole Lownes


They lean in, bending an apilado

mutual axis united in passion.


Her limb lightly skims his leathered skin—

a caricia of long-time amor.


Petrified parada—breathless standstill

that keeps secrets, revealing naught but grace.


Christina Lovin



Tango milonguero    Tango in which partners stay closely embraced

Apilado   The dancers lean in towards each other and share an axis throughout the dance.

Caricia   One of the dancers runs their foot up the outside edge of their partner’s leg, usually during a parada.

Parada Brought to a standstill, often with both dancers bending their knees and dipping down.



“Lovers”of a Certain Age

Baucis, Philemon

                  old temple keepers

the moon

                  knock at the door

unending kindnesses from hosts

                  guests who might be gods

one wish

                  that they die together 

having lived for so long

                   as one

another loaf, more wine

                  thank yous, goodbyes

years pass

                  Philemon’s breath collapsed

 he touched his chest

                  bark, fingertips leaves,

Baucis rooted, climbing

                  into his arms forever intertwined

again the gods were kind


Elizabeth Kerlikowske 





        the lovers

      woven close

         faces gaze

in opposite directions

         a sliver of space

               between their cheeks



loops like a knit stitch

right arm high

grounding balance

curls encircle his head

like a crochet cap


  the partner

   S-curve in the back

     left arm raised

to the sky  

their palms meld

    in the clouds

        hair riffles

 on her shoulders

   a Nippon silk shawl



I steal away

on the murmur of fallen leaves


Jo Barbara Taylor





The Lovers


I’ve not seen trees in love before,

but these two –


They met in kindergarten,

grew into each other’s arms,

learned to winter ice and snow.


Their limbs danced in the wind

as together they leaved a mansion,

fed birds and squirrels.


For decades their leaves blushed

in fall sun, bared branches,

yet they cling to each other.


They believe in the same root. 


Helga Kidder



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