She stood tall,
Slender,
Flamboyant as she swirls,
Encapsulating dreams while dancing,
In a come-die ballet, from times evaporation,
Playing hysterics in magical fire dance of ritual celebrations,
Playing games of passion creations,
Such beauty in an aura of pleasure and pain,
In rigaudon she pastes her grace,
For she is not a dancer,
For she is my quill,
The dancing pen removes my ills.
By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)