she can hear her blood rushing through her ears
a river of raucous song
she fashions sugarplums from her eyebrows
and sends them off to dance on their toes
in the gaze of handsome eyes
the thrill is to dance with a good looking stranger
her quiet looks of desire
are thoughts so loud
they overcome the music
rotating the room in circles
swirling to the center of disorientation
anticipation not knowing what it is looking for
what if a rustling shroud was a dance partner
and dying a dance
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