In response to the a to z challenge
Twist, another, and then it bursts in a cloud of dust, right before your face.Glitter, hurts your eyes.
Her hips twist, back and forth, the movements perfect, the firm knuckles against the heel, a twirl, a tumble onto the floor. Shadows, dragons, red curtains and silk of her dress, shifting. Your hands guiding, guiltless, sure, burning through the fabric, and its just the love and the feeling.
The dance goes on, spotlight, sharp, a pool of white behind which shadows lurk. Who wins, your hand caressing down the hem of her dress, or her dark eyes staring at you with the exhilleration of a conquest?
Its a war, in the violence of your limbs, in the fluidity of your movements, its a war against her depraivity. Its one brand of innocence against another, a performance so sensual that the spectators squirm in their seats.
There is a rip of fabric, a collective gasp as she falls, yet there you swoop, your arms encircling her waist and a swing, a spin, a torpedo of perfection. She, Elevated, like a goddess, your arms rippling with the effort of lifting your loadstone.
Her face upturned to the skies, the light bathing her skin, almost godlike- the world thinks she has won, yet in the trembing of your arms, in the way your fingers dig into her back, a secret lies; you have lifted her to her fall. She is yours.
The battle was won. Her innocence had bowed, before the curl of your sweet, sensuous smile. Devil’s never lose, even the brilliant-eyed innocent ones.