In the rosy hue of the candlelight
her blues appear more profound,
figure on ground in stark relief
all tied up with her sex and aroma,
sepia, bursts of pink, auburn patina
So many percussive manic beats per minute
in the gyrations of her hips, in the fold,
before fall and after the dash, madly, encore,
in echelon, the graceful swoons of grateful ones
and the silver songs of starlit diaphanous beings
© Chagall 2014


Beautiful.
🙂 Thank you, Chess. —Chagall