When my mind wants to dance,
I always hold her heels.
Bare feet…
She likes to hold the floor with the grasp of ten toes.
Unpolished, but worn to a neat edge-
the product of a sneaking shoe.
She likes
Bare feet.
A reminder that she’s here to be heard.
She ebbs and flows in rippling white linen in the moonlight.
At a peaceful pace…
a vibrant portrayal through ten simple digits
calculated swiftly by most any creed of fluid being.
I let her take the floor
under the strings of light,
at the fences of hardship,
As I know fully, her intentions are pure.
Nearly a hundred
and
that is all the proof I need
to take a sip of who I am within my own bones, sampled neatly, on the rocks.
She only ever told my heart to ache when there was a chilly draft.
Frozen over by the ill maintenance of the simple, pure, mechanics of love that warmed the air of most days.
Now, an empty bottle.
Dare we come together and say…
I let her dance the floor,
to stay out of my own way.
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The alliteration in this poem emphasizes all the rights lines. “Ten toes”, “sneaking shoes”, both help to get your imagery across. Great poem.