poetry

Poetry’s Motion

Sharpest Perception a Road Less Traveled

Poetry cradled me up, starting off so slow,
as I felt as a French ballerina, stealing its show.
I accepted, extending my hand in dance,
as poetry’s motion then lifted me up, 

high, 

onto a shadowing romance.

Holding on too its every word, in love with its journey’s range.
I was entangled by the tango, overwhelmingly changed. 

Followed by a waltz, that infused such heat, too a sultry Salsa as the spice hit my feet.

The tempo’s whisper, 

assured my hips they’d be next,
a Luau urged challenge, too sway with words,

I’d never forget.

As I turned belly dancer, too the tiniest beads of sweat.
Poetry splurged on in its dialect,
became more primitive in motion,
taking lead of my limb’s and heart’s

 content emotions.

Since that day my tongue still speaks of the souls beautiful story

Of words so exceptional and bold,
spoken  by a shadow’s glory.

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