january 5, 2018
D A N C E
let's twirl on icy toes
at one in the morning,
locks of hair falling out of place,
heads nodding to our mind's beat,
bodies swaying to sweet melodies,
lips forming words, singing with silent voices,
spinning in slow motion
as the world still blurs.
YOU ARE READING
LIMN
Poetryrepainting my world with the words silently formed by my rose-dipped lips. • 972 in poetry
