The sky is the color of blood. I reach out with my forearm and use my shirt sleeve to wipe the blood off, but that only serves to create wave-like marks on the sky. I cannot see anything else.
At the top of the dance, I lift you up in my arms so that your head tilts back, long dark hair cascading down in a waterfall. Kissing your exposed neck, I swing you around in my arms. The scent of your skin is all around me, the wind swirling it about me as we dance. I cannot see you and so I feel my way through the movements in the dance. Your skin against mine, your body responds to the subtle directions my movements provide. Your skin against mine, I can feel your breath on my cheek as we get close in the dance. Your skin against mine, I can hear your strong heartbeat and more faintly those of the many who watch us. I cannot see them, but know that they surround us and wait. Your skin against mine, I pull you closer still and whisper, "Baby, you are right here with me."
The sky is the color of blood. Perhaps you will show yourself when all the witnesses are gone.