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In the center of a fresh pageant,
she throttles like a mythical woman
quick to dance among open flowers,
whirling like a hundred stars
with curves round and breasts oyster pink
as the trees, ovules, candles in her eyes
open the fingertips of near April.

Wild tempo vibrates on wispy notes,
until eyes of fire melt nightfall's brew...
for primal and young is this Aries goddess
holding a voile skirt that lifts 
into a twirl while the moon 
hangs like a violin... eager to wing
this lady's reggae jigs
drifting on brocade of her springtime arms:

And if every detail of lace in a gown
can be sewn in the light touching her flesh ,
this she shall bring too... this near April debut.




Contest: Your best poem in the last year
Sponsor: Silent One
Written 3/6/2017    Re-submitted 2/5/2018

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