I was reminded of this piece tonight and beg the readers’ indulgence. It is her secret fantasy…
It is her secret fantasy…
In an intimate club she takes the stage.
Dressed in a long sheath which clings to every curve
and caresses her every movement
she is cooly elegant
in a dress that belies the smoulder in her eyes.
Her dark hair falls in glossy waves about her shoulders
and her lips are ruby red.
She sings ballads of star crossed lovers
and of tortured passion.
The audience becomes enraptured with her voice
as every seductive verse is drawn out
every word, whisper, sigh
imbued with emotion.
She loses herself in the lyrics
feeling every word
living them there on the stage.
Singing them to the one who feels them
Her audience of one.
The only man she has eyes for.
*This is not new. It was written and posted last year but I was reminded of it recently and hope that long time readers will…
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