The Dancer

The Dancer

Oh, how she danced!

She danced
With abandon
Passion
With joie de vivre!
The whole of her being
Condensed into graceful
Exaltations
Of movement…
The tilt of her head
Rigid symmetry of torso
The whirling sweep of her slender legs
And obedient command of ankles and feet.

She danced
Translating both majesty
Mystery
The glorious beauty
Of all creation
With control of every tendon
Muscle and bone
With every cell of her sleek body
Her flashing eyes
Piercing gaze
Her long
Nimble fingers
Sometimes spreading a web of desire
Sometimes knit across her swelling breasts
Always telling a story
Making mere words wither
And pale.

Her long dark hair
Soft as starlight
Flaring and beautiful
As Spanish Moss
Falling on the shoulders
Of southern trees
She tightly bundled
When she danced.

Dance was her breath
Dance was her purpose
Her life
And her love.

She was butterfly
And fawn.
She was sunlight
And storm.
She was industry
And sex.
She was fury
And passion.
Oh, how she danced!

I see her yet
On the brightly lit stage
In the theater of my mind.

She danced
And she danced.
Oh, how she danced!

But for all her dancing
She never danced for me.