She: Poetry

Hear the music
of the dancer,
gold braces jingling
sensually at her wrists,
the clink-clang of passion
stretching out on silken sheets


Like temple doors,
her eyes will take you
someplace you've never
been or dreamed
In a rowboat across
a stream lined
with dark trees
blooming with cherry blossoms

And as she rocks,
on the boat goes,
down within the waters
of a dance,
a twirl,
a wonderful type
of thing


Oh, they say she won't belong...
no she won't be long...


She's here.

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