Twirling


 

The music in her was at first hard

to hear.

Until I stepped back and

just let her mind and body flee

from me,

Flying.

Her legs then found the floor

as her hips found the rhythm,

gyrating and winding,

the music flowed  towards her before my eyes

injecting  her,

setting up a syncopated resonance

within,

taking me away of what I thought

she was,

to the actual of her,

A wild whirling dervish,

a creature unbound in thought and nature,

Twirling.

A soul singing.

Fighting for a freedom

to just be.

 

 

Philip Wardlow 2017

 

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