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A game

I'd like to play a game.

It begins in a room with the meeting of eyes, an extension of the hands for an invite. A mute acceptance. A man and a woman.

The music begins, cascading landscape of the violins with the growling baritone notes of a piano. Two strangers join hands in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, embrazo. There is a momentary pause, the calm before the storm. The violins strain as in tandem, the strong pizzicato and legs sweep across the floor, first in one direction than in another.

The first blush of meeting, the tentative start. Slowly, a comfortable niche forms. He pauses testing the waters, moves with more assurance.

He questions, "Do you trust?"
She responds, giving him  the reply he needs. "I surrender".

Syncopated beats fill the movements, a build-up, an explosion of emotions. Molinete, Sacadas, Boleos, Ochos. The violins begin their descent, rubato.  An assertion of chords.  A chorus of orchestral voices, the chromatic trend of the piano echoed by the strings. A call, a response.

The sweep, a single note wavering in the vibrating air, humming. Suspended. The soloist takes over, drawing his bow, a lush, dominant movement across the strings pushing its way to the forefront of the orchestral arrangement. A sudden rush, a twist of the hips, an energy pulses. The end is near, straining movements, the swell of instruments as each furiously hurdles to the finish line. She feels her pulse quicken, entwined, they move as one.

Then the finale, a swoosh and a gentle settling of bodies.

It is after all, a game.

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