The record played low and slow,

and his hand dipped into the curve

of her lower back, holding tender

and still.

She leaned her head into his shoulder,

inhaling the scent lifting from

that dip at the base of his neck.

The music swirled around them,

and the rest watched in silence.

He held her hand in his,

tucked in against his chest.

She could feel his heart beating,

in alternate time with the drums.

The record played low, it played slow.

They danced.