The Dancer’s body,

Is shaped by movement and desire,
Whether Skinny and swanlike,
Or fuller than the night’s sky and full,
Of stars,
The dancer is living movement captured,
In flesh,

The old dancer’s body,
Pinched and wrinkled like a well loved,
Muscle should be,
Never forgets its movements,
Their limbs still flow with the music,
Even as memory lapses into,
Glittering dust and atoms,

The dancer’s body,
When it is young is a hopping,
Jubilant thing,
It’s movements stronger than what any can sing,
Uncontained, svelt, large, spinning around,
Taking charge by simply being,
Round tummy or smooth,
Long or squat,
Comfortable with all movements,
Or just a few the body moves.

The body moves.

33b9834358e15f55221a3015e217d45c-just-dance-dance-dance-dance
Black men dancing, soaring like kings of the heavens.

 

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