White and blue now move to orange,
in flames that lick the tempting air,
dancing round a burning fire,
lost in thought- without a care,

Gypsy hearts they move in rhythms,
as fire builds with stomping feet,
the wafting smell of soft patchouli,
hints of savory with the sweet,

Tousled locks they flow on shoulders,
as arms and hands are lifted high,
clapping, moving to the pulses,
hearts are upward to the sky,

Many nights with many dances,
to dance before Aurora's throne,
as magic colors still transforming,
in sky of midnight - moon of bone,

To dance with many or to dance alone,

It doesn't matter -
just dance.

Ma Cherie © 2017