“Dance for me, Love. I’ve written you a surprise.”
He strums a few chords, searching my eyes. Can’t hide his smile, he hums the first note. I love when he sings with the scratch in his throat. The guitar’s on his lap, pick between his lips. He writes out my words. Pen’s furious whip. Summer’s breeze swirls and catches my hair. My skirt starts to flutter to rhythm I can’t hear. He taps his guitar to give me my time, then takes his pick to play the sublime. My Father’s the writer and I’m still his little girl. I dance to his music with all of spinning’s twirl.
He gives me the words and I sing off key. He stands to his feet and dances with me. I stumble sometimes, and lose my balance. He doesn’t care, just wants me to dance.
My Father and I, in a kingdom of song. He wrote the music and I dance along. He sets the pace, I fall in his time. I am his, says his tune, and he is mine.