|
![]() |
When she moves... When she moves she moves to music, In a Latin sort of way, her dress is metronomic, Mesmeric some might say. She dazzles in high Fashion, hits the right note every time, and When she walks her body talks in a language Tres sublime. . When she moves she moves the menfolk, To her Cuban rumba beat, a sway to take their Breath away, a wiggle just for cheek. She's Rhythm in a cotton frock, dance ripples through Her veins, her tempo wild and wicked, her Fiery hips untamed.
When she moves she moves the heavens, As the male tries to advance, she flips her skirt As if to say 'go away I want to dance.' But he is Having none of it his aim to lower her guard, and This he'll do symbolically with his handkerchief His arm.
When she moves she moves exquisitely, In the heartbeat of the dance, a super-tease enticing The attention of a man. Wild music fills the stage Tonight as lovers play their part, with storms of sensual Energy as she protects her heart. But here I fear my Poem ends and here my pen must stop, for I promised
On my honour I'd not reveal the plot.
©Joseph G Dawson
Vote for this poem
|
|
| |