STAGE CRAFT

She walked onto the rostrum


A torturing treacherous arena

Where most stoic would

Wither, swizzle or sizzle.

There, she built herself

A queenly castle;

A most beautiful chateau.



Appearing In an all black ensemble

Her exposed skin brown like candy

Her nose dipped and without blemish

Her eyes, a surrounding pale-gray

Black in the mid and dreamily seductive

Her lips, sweet and succulent

Her smile, dazzling, glorious, infectious



Yet, that was not the best of her:

Think of crisp delivery and articulacy

Think of whistling, mumbles and sensuality

Think of an imploring, connecting and beseeching ode

Think of raw animalistic, body and soul snatching tenor

She was my sing-song fantasy female sensations in one

The highest point of my poetic climax



Her grace, poise and swift gestures

Spoke volume:

A glance here; an extended expression there

All, of deep essence;

Spiritual gesticulations that once it caught the eyes,

Kept them captive,

Taking toils and toilsome out of mind.

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