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Thursday, November 5, 2015

The Dancer

He dances with passion,gusto and lust.
On surfaces hard and edges rough.

but plays on my heartstrings with coyness and such finesse,
That I am besides myself and helpless to his touch.

What form, what poise, what beauty, what grace,
I yearn achingly for his loving embrace.

I breathe his presence every moment,
In hopes of gaining his favor as a present.

I write these words in my room alone,
His thought nourishes me, and I am at home.

His smile ablaze with his flame of passion.
I lose my rhyme, I forget my reason.

My heart breaks on hearing his past despairs,
I'll win his heart, his trust, his love,

and soothe his pains and wipe his tears.
This I pray to the Lord above.

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