The Dance

She danced
A swirling catastrophe of woman
Pure and unadulturated
Her hips swaying in tandem
With the heartbeats of those
Watching
Falling prey to her whims
Falling prey to her will
She danced
With every bit as much passion
As would a fallen dove
Seen from below
She danced
The intensity growing
A high pitch of torrid fire
Each small increment increasingly vital
To her survival
Her body moving sensuously
As the climax of her
Silent plea
Crashes upon the pitious hands
Of her blessed Creator
She knows not the boundaries
Of rules
Of gravity
As she flies
She flies.