Painted black—her raven hair

In flowing rivers—painted her shoulders.

Cheeks-a-blush—a fullness there

Her slate-grey eyes—two sunken boulders.

The darkness of ten thousand years—

But warmth to welcome tortured souls

The envy of her jealous peers—

As if perfection were the goal—

She dances here and there with grace.

Her lovely countenance aglow—

The look of longing on her face.

My heart begins to overflow.

I cut in to steal the dance.

Her eyes meet mine and then they smile.

Though we met by circumstance

Fate would have us dance awhile.