Romani Girl 1841

Skirts swirl around her like colors in a kaleidoscope Her feet move like they always knew the steps The disks on her ankles tink and chime against each other The music of her moves is more intoxicating than the colors in her skirt But her beauty, Oh! That is so much more With skin like satin clover honey Hair as rich as cured mahogany, with eyes dark as any abyss All it takes is one lash filtered look to cut him to the quick Lips ripe and pink whispering possibilities Hot breath on his ear is his undoing Arms long reaching into to soft palms that flex to slender fingers Each light touch gives him just enough hope She may leave this band, this warm beautiful caravan of family And be a gadjo’s wife He falls asleep each night with colors swirling Music enchanting, and hope ever present that her invigorating love will come to him.