A gentle breeze spun her way into the room
Tempted even the icons to look
With her smoke-black mane, her obsidian-dark eyes
And her wine stained lips from where roses bloom
Stepped so easy yet turned so shy
Left her blood red sash to spin and wind
To the sounds of old, in the name of home,
To irremarkable days and urforgettable nights
Taking her final hop a gaze holds,
In her mischievious face a smile forms,
A blush is shared as that familiar feeling looms...
And I forget all the dance moves I was taught