VIII. Sonnets for Dancer

A princess, you, may be an offer to a prince

since kisses due lay kings’ hands wrung ouvert en croix

of blessings transfixed, seconds bursting fourth, fondus evince

from momentary proffering, one golden port de bras

to cast the future and past as one emboldened spate

with épaulement set back, chin elate and eyes bound

with that perfect platitude of fate: swanlike souls, life-mate

through better and worse we’ll recreate those motions like sound

in the elevation of our flight before that final fish-dive

set to No.3 in 3/4 time, when you reach for nascent Jewels

in an ocean replete with zirconium tide

only you could have the wisdom discernment fuels

that leap of faith, descent meant gracefully

landing on the fifth in grand assemblé.

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