This may have turned into a poem

Staring at her from across way, you see her face... you watch her waist. You know that you have no interest in dancing with anyone else from this place. Beautiful, intriguing, and your believing in your conscience when you hear echo "she's the one." No clue of what her name is, her occupation, her age, or if she has kids. Yet you know she's the one you want to be with. 

Without opposition you move in position. Standing in front of her and saying nothing. You smile, reach for her hand, and move toward the dance floor. An experience subliminally regarded as tradition. A coveted union between perfect strangers, smiles and flirtatious glances exchanged. Hearts changed as warmth is felt from to the core. Loving the moment that seems to be lasting forever, or as long as the song plays. Her hips sway and her thighs tense. Body movements observed as artistic, she becomes your idolized individual. Your quiet painting. Your soft silhouette.