Dance

We bow,
That your wine glass tumbles,
And I see your eyes,
Goad the man in the moon,
And the children choir,
Embroiders your lips in a silken play,
Taking hand in hand,
A rose budded cheek,
Sparkles in the dew drop of salvation,
Music plays,
Yet comes from your toes,
As we move across the plain of possession,
To take the even light in a shroud of passion,
Feathery lips brush my cobwebbed cheeks,
Designing new ties,
For my paved future.