divinity descending

oh, the so-sublime motion of your sway dressed in naught but the moon's wisps sole fascination of the gods themselves should Valhalla ever hold the refinement to abide such flawlessly beguiling rhythm … from heels to hips to dimpled shoulders you toss your birthday outfit with intent seductive swing lassoing my gaze, entire the drift of your narcotic motion blooms enough to best the Gardens of Babylon … yet the whitest, purest blossoms known would blush to crimson for the sole sake of your unblemished, magnetic contours the stairs and stars, swinging in tempo to the dance of your fair and fluidic flesh … pray these eyes, do not ever blink again lest I chance to miss an instant of that saucy, sinuous, room-sweeping saunter pray this heart, do not ever thrum again lest it interrupt your perfect ... cadence. Copyright © Gregory Richard Barden, October 18, 2019