deepundergroundpoetry.com

May I have this dance

She dances on the tip of my finger
she dances on the tip of my tongue
Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers
Choreographed by passion
I feel I'm a stripper pole
A canvas to throw her paint upon
An artist working in juices
We find a rhythm we find a pulse
 the water flows from her mountains into her valley
It runs through my river into my Ocean
It evaporates gets lifted to the clouds which pass over her mountains cycle begins again

Doubt enters them to steal a moment away
Is the bee using the flower for it's nectar
Or is the flower using the bee to spread it's pollen
That is the place were the music stops
And we sever our heads from our bodies
Because they have gotten in our way
We allow ourselves to dance with reckless abandon
Our heads applaud from the sidelines and jump back in
Then the music ascends to a crescendo
We take our bow
Flowers get thrown to feet then the curtain drops





Written by Deathpuppy
Published | Edited 28th May 2013
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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