How I Dance

Her sheer and black silk dress hangs, Floats, sways snapping to a stop, it snaps to her defiant stand. Her dress is discarded to the air, luring my eyes, Reeling me to her every command, But I don’t dance. Then her deep, black eyes, they ignore the world, They peer through my wall, screaming out female power, And her lashes of hooks flutter piercing my steel, As her eyes want me to own every second of this hour, No, I don’t dance. And her long, lush waves ignite my desire, Sweeping a flame of tousles over her mysterious soul, Breaking me down, then building me up, Stealing all my self-control, Still, I don’t dance. Then, I bend her to the floor, arch her back to the floor, And her toes plead out to the sky, I break the defiant stand, her piercing eyes, flaming flare, And every part of her yells to me: Why? I love how you dance.