Imagery is Everything
The dance is long over, and everyone is gone home. It's late 1900's, and they're not meant to be together alone. Her dress is extravagant and brushes the polished marbel floor; he's a tall man, but built well, and careful with her.
The lights are dimmed, most of the candels have gone out.
She has to leave, eventually, but it could have lasted all night if they had let it. And as he's walking home, the sun begins to rise in a pink and orange colored clouded sky.
Imagery is Everythin. Respect, yo.
((Also, the title isn't lame. I like it. /grin))