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Chloe Dec 2015
I'll dance until my ten toes are bruised,
My bones twisted, muscles misused,
To the symphony to my heart of which you have abused,
I'll perform only for you, my one and only Muse.

My heart beats to the song of which I am bound,
I twirl and leap endlessly as if wound,
A tireless Ballerino, making nary a sound,
Prancing and contorting on stoic ground.
Cecil Miller Aug 2015
I will not call you my baby,
Until I can be your only baby.
You maneuver around a subject
With the litheness of a danseur.
Though I would like to love you,
If you would let me love you,
Loneliness has never been what drives me.
It is love to which I answer.
I can see the youthfulness,
And much more, for my sleuthfulness.
Are you seeking any other than me,
Who is eager to applaud as to centre stage you bound?
For just a while more, I wait for first frame.
It could be so grand to see how you move your frame.
I have wondered if your dance would be as spry
As the clever way you manage to avoid.
I wrote this in about ten minutes. I finished it just now, at 11:30pm.
I hope that this bit of poetry is as exciting as an enthralling ballet.
Mimi Apr 2018
in midwinter noon’s light your fingers shudder out concerto number three
on the insides of your cheek
in the hollows of your thighs
prickling beneath your ribs
swollen heart
knees that cave so, just so

split second they called you beautiful
golden under the lights
but many hours more you oxidize
feet
rusting varnish green
rusty blood that stems, slowly, slowly

they say the music dances through the one she loves, a body and life anew
i once saw the night embrace you as a lover
did you love her back?
did you love me back?
or were we to have and to hold and to throw
across the room
reborn as something less
written november 2017
AmIEnough Nov 2019
A cat pushes
Out of the bushes
After a flickering tail

He is stalking
Never walking
He slides around a rusty pail

Like a practiced ballerino
He glides on the tips of his toes
His hunting techniques never fail

He comes close
And goes still
As if striking a pose
Then he pounces
As if pounding a nail

He hears something in the nearby ferns
And stops. Acting unconcerned
Like he’s just looking around
On his way to the mail

He quickly carries off his prey
His third glorious catch of the day
And that is the end of this tail

— The End —