༻✧༺﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡ ༻✧༺

she had the deadliest of weapons.
it was her voice
which did not speak.
it was her voice
which moved.
it was her voice
which embraced the victim in a turbulence before the kill.

emotions? oh, emotions. she
owned them with every move.
she cradled them on her white washed limbs and let them ripple on her electric skin.
her face emanated a myriad of expressions all at ones, all conjoining into oblivion at the subtle smiling furrow of her brow.
and they said, her face was painted!

but they all knew this- her feet were in a sinful affair with the soil underneath. they kissed, they treaded softly, they laughed, they leaped; then they raged, they quivered, they slapped, they stormed.
with every rhythm they gently painted a symphony on a spectator's eyes.

how careful she was when her fingers moved;
she knew that every inch of her movement was her new-born child, she needed to precariously let each of them slide from her fingertips onto the earth's lap.

her eyes were that of a novice child as well;
one moment they darted from one end of the world to another, at the next moment they were soft like the glowing embers of a dying forest fire.

her hair was an embroidered black serpent in a trance, trailing down her back, protecting her.

but oh, her body cannot be described by any words.
she is a feminine framework. she is the great embodiment of life in this miniscule universe of ours.
how can you dare to describe the embodiment of all bodies?

she swayed like sea waves near the shore, and she grew like an ocean whirlpool.
she was unaware of the world spinning like a madman around her.
fire and ice met in grandeur where her grace moved.
yes, yes, she moved.

each day, she killed yesterday's herself to transform to tomorrow.
she killed with each and every living cell of her body.

to this day, she moves.

she is a dancer.

༻✧༺﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡ ༻✧༺