Mourning Cursive - We Dance

We dance to some old French song Whispering words like we knew their meaning I hold you close and our bodies find syncopation You grasp my shoulder blades like a life you can't live without My hand starts at the small of your back but slowly slides down To grab your ass and squeeze it tight You smile and giggle the smallest giggle I've ever heard The kind that makes a man instantly fall in love We dance to the scratches on the record Coming closer and closer until even the lack of space between us Has become too much of a distance I feel your skin against mine Cool and burning at the same time The music becomes some orgasmic melody A haunting rhythm we can't fight Our bodies entwine Limbs grasping Lips locking Pelvics grinding I claw at your soft skin And you tear back into mine I want you You want me We dance ravenously Ravishing clothing and flesh Pulling harder and harder into one another The record ends The needle plays a dull cadence of empty space But still we dance Your skin against mine And mine in you We dance We dance We dance