A third poem for the beautiful soul who dances so often — never have I found a muse that stirs so much; I feel like a murky pond whose waters are at long last being kicked up.
unbidden the spine arches
as extolling gentleness her body spins;
precision married with impassioned passion:
a taste of fire in a teacup.
was […]
this is for the girl with the tattoo on her back. namaste.
reach.
flesh.
towards offering
acceptance.
palms.
cupped.
as if to catch
my tears.
fingers.
point.
to a heaven drawn
in more subtle lines.
spinning in this
semi-dark i
catch glimpses
of offering hands.
the white neck perched
atop, some sort of
gentle rebuff to my
metaphoric mind.
“a woman dances here,”
the neck whispers,
“not some capital T Truth.”
—as if there were a difference.
i can bow […]
other.people.speak