Saturday, July 29, 2017


The first day, all she could do was dance.
Arms and legs knitting a fine spider's web,
To bind each prey with invisible thread
And cherish the victim she caught just by chance.

Second day, was about her well sculpted groin.
Moving her youthful tummy back and forth.
Her netherlands, a treasure cove, a fair mount's worth;
With her belly button's priceless coin, to lure in the boy.

The third day she heard knocking in her chest.
'Twas a steady beat, the nature's calling.
The snooze of her cells was on to her stalling.
Then she decided, now any choice would be best.

Fourth day, all land froze below the mouth.
She felt her voice and admired its effect.
Spoke out her mind, to her own words she wept,
Abandoned the rest of her places, down south.

Fifth day came and her jaw went all numb.
Her words did not climb those high mountains,
Did not become doves to reach far for encounters.
Her volume turned down, her power went glum.

Day six, and inside her all hell just broke loose.
To her only safehaven she fled, at the top of her head.
She laid panicking, paralyzed on her once bridal bed;
Trying to find for her thoughts urgent, rescuing use.

On day seven she gathers the ascent from toes up
Was this vertical journey, a lifelong 'bottoms up'.
Like the glass of fine wine must become empty cup;
When the juice is all gone, and as spirit still flows:
"It was not about me". And in silence, she knows.

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