The Echoes of a Lonely Guitar

My fingers ached as I thrummed the strings,
Instead of the echoes of a lonely guitar,
There was the senseless slur of snails,
I took one careful step towards the noise,
Desperation and longing clear on my face,
The icy north wind whipped my face,
Yet I still ascended towards the slur,
My breath was taken away as I stepped into my imagination,
There was the constant flicker of the street lights,
The air polluted with cigar smokes,
Tranquillity hung in the air as I turned,
I let go of the breath that I had been holding,
I saw them then,
Luminous lights lifting two spirits,
They twirled across the road,
Their bodies in unison,
Brisk as a wasp in the sunshine,
And I knew then that
All the world lay stretched before me like the open palm of my hand.