She’s got to want it so badly
that she has to ask me, got to grab me,
and though I pull away sadly
I want it all the more.

All her angst and gentle pining
steadily, heartbeat, vastly climbing
with grace and simple timing
I pull her to shore.

‘Pon this land of silk and money,
she does laugh and chase the bunny,
but my needs have farther measure
beyond laughter, far past pleasure.

When the dancing is fixated
‘pon the harvest we’ve created,
let us chance to taste the sun;
flights of fancy have begun.

I slow down, she chases nigh.
I halt and wonder why
highfalutin nonsense dies.
Off the carousel, she cries.

All my passion’s dares and flaunts;
she won’t get the things she wants.

Genteel in droves
she's drug of choice
you stay at bay
but follow her voice

It's often said
"if looks could ****"
her beauty's hooks
a lustful-red pill.

Your brain's a machine,
gears and all
she'll gum your works
the plane will fall.

She'll get you good
you'll never see,
the innocent girl
she claims to be.

Once you're on the slab
***** as a building
the devil ***** you dry
your bones for kindling.

He clears his throat,
offers a hand,
lady afloat
begging to stand...

but where is she now?
The gentleman's moon...
his strides upon Earth
whose labors to croon?

Here, gentleman, hear
her breaths are so soft.
Need this dough like skin,
a taste so aloft?

Her pulse like a symphony,
her steps on pools glistening,
her lips your night litany,
her hands light-wrought ivory.

Gentleman she swoons!
Her hips like snow dunes,
her words gentle noons
that light up your Junes.

Yet you stay away,
your respect holds sway.
Though she is nectar,
you drink not as night
does day.

Your gentle ways
lengthen the days,
though distance kept,
you oft' purvey
a sense of love,
as she turns your way.

The wind did try to bend the tree.
The tree did not comply with glee.
“If you do bend you will not break…”
“But if I bend my back will ache!”
The wind blew soft, “It’ll only tickle.”
The tree just coughed, “If it remains a trickle.”
The wind blew hard: a threatening gale.
“I will stand firm; I know this tale!”
Without patience, like a wave,
the wind’s full force said, “Tree, behave!”
To this, the tree did move to bow.
The wind blew on, “You’ll listen now.”

Temptation fled
will to dance gone
flat on a bed
from dusk to dawn.

Death can be cruel...
What do we know?
They just disappear
no idea where they go.

Yet, uncle has this effect on me...
He's not here, but this sting must be he!

Mother said, be quiet! don't tap your feet!
She can't hear this melody sounding sweet...
No dancing today, I'll be a statue.
I won't move, like I ran out of glue.

Procession was long, I couldn't see past
Heads of the elders, relics of the past.
It's not raining, but their faces are wet.
Him, her, her, I know, the rest I forget.

Now at the grave, we all say our farewell.
Look at my feet, they're beginning to yell!
Uncle wouldn't want me glued to still,
he would want me tapping, flexing my will.
I'll show them, and I'll never let them stop,
my mourning dance, or my weak heart will pop!

Jump into the rhythm, steadily go,
my movements with him, I want him to know
that he was special, and I'll tap away
today, tomorrow, tomorrow, today.

You get down from there now! My mother does shriek.
Is this how you treasure moments so meek?
I couldn't hear her, and I couldn't know
how over-the-line innocence can go.
I danced for the heavens, uncle will see,
he's playing a song for me and my feet.

Someone took me down, mother boxed my ears.
The day that followed answered all my fears.

Now I don't dance on a day of mourning.
Being old, I understand the warning
but my daughters sing when we lose a kin
an idea can break you, or let you win.