Arms, Shoulders, Legs
Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem
Your dancing causes clouds to form around
Your dreams. These clouds are far more solid than
The dreams, except the nightmares. Clouds confound
Theology with mysticism. Man
Was made for better things than mist. Your dance
Should make your flesh the firmness of
Those greater things like deity, not chance.
Your steps and manly motions are for love,
Not wispiness. Your thighs make souvenirs
That others will remember like a firm
Idea, not the music of the spheres
Or other flimsy notions. God’s own term,
Eternity, is like a marble chest
That moves in rites. Dance that haar-less quest.