The ceiling fan hummed, it stirred the humid air and provided the only sound in the quiet aftermath of making love. He stared back at her long torso. Erect nipples, and long legs. If he were to close his eyes now, he could taste her and picture her long legs still draped over his shoulders, still picture the contortions on her face, which was framed by her long dark hair, as she had an orgasm. Her eyes dancing as the filtered afternoon light slipped quietly under the drapery.

But these were the quiet awkward moments, when two souls lie exposed and naked to all of life’s baggage. The naked privacy afforded one another to process the culmination of their human instincts, the moment before religion, baggage and thoughts catch up with us all, a quiet time when words only ruin the moment. It was the time when only three spoken words in any language would suffice. They were words, which scared her, more than any other. He did … I Did, Con todo mi Corazón:

They spoke, but only in touch. He kissed her exposed stomach, tenderly and with conviction. Sweet Besimo. He hoped it would suffice. They held hands and smiled as the blades of the ceiling fan now stirred emotion as well as air. They danced a delicate tango as they dressed in silence. They washed from the basin, filled with cool water and lime slices. It was the cleansing of body and soul — and one more step in the dance.

Beans were pressed, and a thick Cuban coffee served in little cups on the veranda. The ceiling fan swirled the air and his cigar smoke drifted. An island breeze blew draperies out the opened windows. They too danced in the wind. A rooster crowed in a courtyard far away.

A tropical storm blew in to cool off the hot afternoon. No words were needed, nor spoken. I held her hand and we watched the rains fall. A young man danced in the rain on the street below. Our hearts danced in the silence of a Havana rain.

Isn’t it time the trade and travel restrictions end?