Some steps in the right direction.

She, with her startling blue eyes, surprised me twice in one focused glance.

"Art or laziness or fear or thought or..."

"Just. One. Word." As she cut me off, her speech became a tango.

"But..." I said as I missed a step and stumbled. Then realized that was my answer. At least that's all she would hear. I felt a weighty unease at that answer. Unease. Because. It. Fit.

I laughed and spun around in my head.

There are some questions, unique. Not that they have never been asked before. But, that they fill a void, a gap in understanding, for that moment. They lead down dusty roads of thought which seem to be abandoned, or worse: never traversed.

Then I nodded, looking for balance from my thoughts. "How can I change that?"

"How am I supposed to know all the shit you carry around in your head?" She shrugged. "Although, you should probably stop making excuses."

"Just do it?" I giggled.

She glared at me for being flippant.

"No, seriously." I smoothed out my expression. "Would you like to dance."

She nodded, smiled and put out her hands.

As I took her hands, I repeated her question silently, like a prayer: "What one word has defined your life?"

Kismet is not Orange, But you do look marvelous in it...

Along the corner he traced his step, backward into the marginal silence of the night.
Clanging bottles. Bursts of laughter. A car horn. A siren.
And there was a silhouette, walking in a gliding, dance.
She turned and became a burst of shocking color.
A night-blooming flower, graceful and succulent.
And there he stood a flash of laughter, and 200 proof energy.
They paused briefly, for each to warm the other.
A crossing brief, tender, and light.