The 12 inch heel, the confident gait,
The measured steps, the sudden halt,
The blush on cheeks, the smoldering eyes,
The hands on hips, head held high,
The silken gown, barely there,
A tilt of neck, balanced well,
The sultry glance, timed right,
Perfect half twirl, played twice,
With a graceful swirl, she turns back.
The world looks on with stolen breath,
Oohs, aahs, applauds, encores.
The showstopper’s yesterday,
Now hangs in a gallery,
Fading parchment, guarded unnecessarily.
No shadows of glamour come a-chasing,
For vacant eyes and sagging skin,
For shattering illusions, hanging questions,
Am I never going back?
Linking with The Mag : Mag 147
Linking with Write on Edge : The Red Writing Hood - The Gallery
Linking with The Velvet Verbosity : 100 Words - Breath