Dancing with Anando is like colors
bursting behind your closed eyes in patterns that have no meaning and
yet mean everything to you.
There is beauty in the way his fingers brush
against you, a caress that doesn’t reveal its name. There is warmth in
his hands when he draws you closer to him, even if it’s only the warmth
reflected from your own skin. There is fire in his eyes, as dark as they
may be: flames that dance like he does, close to you, following your
heartbeat just a much as the music.