The Dance

She is forever Dance's muse, Simply calls herself Mystery. Beautiful, bold and beguiling, Captivating to all who see. Ethereally dancing on a knife-edge, Between this world and the next. But beware a sting in this poems tail. For she and the Dance, are hexed. She starts off easy, smooth and slow, Now absorbs all rhythm's then lets go. Frantic, frenetic, fevered and frenzied. An erotic tour de force now on show. Her heart in tune with Dance's fierce beat, It soars down her body, caresses her feet. Dance's muse now projecting hypnotic fire, Mystery's soul now filled with sexual desire. She and the Dance are now eternally aligned, A most dark love-affair with both now entwined. Her curse, her gift, a lost game of chance, For the dancer has now become, The Dance.