The dancer

She’s reclining. Extravagant. In cognito.
She’s reclining.
She’s leaping up gracefully; as a virgin to a rose.
She’s taking his hand from behind; with a swiftness reserved for a low flying swallow.
She’s guiding him.
Blindfolded, through the space.
She’s bouncing; on her tiptoes.
She’s comfortable
She’s there.. in the skin she’s in.
She’s peering around sharp corners.
She’s lurking in.
She’s lurking in on a feather footed stance.
That twists there seductive.
Gestures there instructive.
Sways there erotic; like a serpent to a vine.
She wears a theatrical glimmer in her questionable bedroom smile.
She wears a theatrical glimmer in a glitter marked eye.
Perched atop a deep ocean of knowledge wide.
She reads you as she strides.
She sweeps through there as she glides.
She’s a trickster; a dancer in disguise.

 

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