The dancers congregate for gossiping words
Sniped from the bell tower of looked down nostrils
The legs stretch, thigh's flesh
Sheathed in the blackest tights like an eel on the bottom.
The summer dresses of buttercup yellow
Dance seductive light with all the mirror suitors
Watchers, well wishers
One night standers waiting to happen
Revving to start the race towards acceptance
Stand and deliver your braids of hair
Carelessly twirled outside of the make-up mirror
Where your ghost lies beyond Glencoe mist,
Another widow of the halo factory.
Such music, her movement
Is a fingertip touch glanced upon the eyes
Such a dance, her body arches over
Its beauty means never having to say sorry
Or accept its scant offering.
The door closes to the auditorium
That world inside is lost
A tea clipper corked inside a bottle,
Like the figures creating movement's breath beyond the mortar.
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