The Dancer

The Dancer
A thousand words her flaming eyes
Hushed within her silent cries
Her body is the expression of life
Caressing all its joy and strife
Her muscular legs so unassuming
But violets in their tender blooming
Her hands are portraits of the wind
Visual stories of where it’s been
Her body is but a lonely flute
Melodies tasting like passion fruit
She is a hymn of gracious angels
Adorned with exotic beads and bangles
She charms everyone but kisses the sky
Her dancing gives her wings to fly
She dances alone with nobody there
Dancing is her passion without a care

Featured in "Dance of my Hands," Publishing

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