Dance (sacred and profane) w. blue_angel

 
 
A moonlit terrace.  a goodnight waltz.  and the most
ethereal beauty in my arms. unimagined and sacred.
have you fallen, Angel, from a sky kingdom,
into my sweet elusive dream?
 
But she isn’t a dream; she is real. I can feel the heat of
her flesh burning under her gown, arousing my own
immoral desires. the Sisters of Mercy who taught me
catechism years ago would beat me.
 
If she is the golden treasure behind the walls of a gorgon’s castle,
then I am a soldier. a soldier of fortune. the music, the lady, the
night, join forces to assault my logic. would I exalt the myth of
love? chance my loneliness on the torrid gamble of romance?
 
Rather, let the music never end, nor the moon depart,
that we may dance beyond eternity –
we synergistic starlings,
dancing into oblivion.
 
 
Like a vivid dream, his moonlit charm roused within me,
settling softly against a resisting pout. Daring not escape.
But, rather cinch the heart's restraints. A contemporized macabre.
Coursing spiccato vibes along our astral plane.

Our chassis whisper the blue language; The physique of profane.
As the night's chill deepens its breath to twilight, cries reign.
Haunting arias of Dimitrova's, Madame Butterfly
announces the epic rivaling.

Whilst my dainty toes, tip and sway to his pristine pulses,
my soul stirs on veined winged compulsory.  
Fluttering  wildly against his lead.  I cave. Trip the light fantastically.
With love's mosaic staged on high, he presses simply for delight.

As the horizon poignantly surrenders its transparency,
We twirl on chords of fantasy.  
I gaze his eye's their final stance.
mesmerizing  is the dance.